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VAGABONDIA 





/ 


J 


MRS. BURNETT’S BOOKS 




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VAGABONDIA 


A LOVE STORY 


FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT 

II 

AUTHOR OF “THAT LASS O’ LOWRIES,” “LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY,” ETC. 


NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 


1909 





















































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CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER I. _ 

Page 

In which we hold Counsel ......... 7 

CHAPTER II. 

In the Camps op the Philistines 34 

CHAPTER III. 

In which the Train is laid 59 

CHAPTER IV. 

A Lily of the Field 85 

CHAPTER V. 

In which the Philistines be upon us 108 

CHAPTER VI. 

“Wanted, a Young Person” 132 

CHAPTER VII. 

In which a Spark is applied 151 

CHAPTER VIII. 

The Beginning of the Ending 171 

CHAPTER IX. 

In which we are Unorthodox 192 


VI 


CONTENTS . 


CHAPTER X. Page 

In Slippery Places 209 

CHAPTER XI. 

In which comes a Wind which blows Nobody good 226 

CHAPTER XII. 

In which there is an Explosion 248 

CHAPTER XIII. 

A Dead Letter 285 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Seven Long Years, Beloved 304 

CHAPTER XV. 

In which we try Switzerland 321 

CHAPTER XYI. 

If you should die 338 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Do YOU KNOW THAT SHE IS DYING 1 354 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Grif! 369 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Rose Color 380 


VAGABONDIA. 


CHAPTER I. 

IN WHICH WE HOLD COUNSEL. 

I T was a nondescript sort of a room, taking it alto* 
gether. A big, sunny room, whose once hand- 
some papering and corniceing had grown dingy, and 
whose rich carpeting had lost its color and pile in 
places, and yet asserted its superiority to its sur- 
roundings with an air of lost grandeur in every 
shabby medallion. There were pictures in abun- 
dance on the walls, and more than one of them were 
gems in their way, despite the evidence all bore to 
being the work of amateurs. The tables were carved 
elaborately, and the faded, brocaded chairs were of 
the order pouf \ and as inviting as they were disrep- 
utable in appearance ; there was manuscript music 
among the general litter, a guitar hung from the wall 
by a tarnished blue and silver ribbon, and a violin 
lay on the piano ; and yet, notwithstanding the air of 
free-and-easy disorder, one could hardly help recog* 


8 


VAGABONDIA. 


nizing a sort of vagabond comfort and luxury in the 
Bohemian surroundings. It was so very evident that 
the owners must enjoy life in an easy, light-hearted, 
though perhaps light-headed fashion ; and it was 
also so very evident that their light hearts and light 
heads rose above their knowledge of their light 
purses. 

They were congregated together now, holding a 
grand family council around the centre-table, and 
Dolly was the principal feature, as usual ; and, em- 
barrassing as the subject of said council was, not one 
of them looked as if it was other than a most ex- 
cellent joke that Dolly, having been invited into 
the camps of the Philistines, should find she had 
nothing to put on to grace the occasion. And as to 
Dolly, — well, that young person stood in the midst 
of them in her shabby, Frenchy little hat, slapping 
one pink palm with a shabby, shapely kid glove, her 
eyeg alight, her comical dismay and amusement dis- 
playing itself even in the arch of her brows. 

“ And so the Philistine leader pounced upon me 
herself,” she was saying. “ You know the ‘ Ark/ 
Phil ? Well, they were all in the Ark, — the Kev. 
Bilberry in front, and the boys and girls filling up 
the corners ; so you may imagine the effect produced 
when they stopped, and Lady Augusta bent over the 
side to solemnly proclaim her intention of inviting 
me to partake of coffee and conversation on Friday 


V A GABONDIA. 


9 


aiglit, with an air of severely wondering whether I 
would dare to say ‘ No ! * ” 

“ Why did n’t you say it ? ” said Aimee. “ You 
know it will be an awful bore, Dolly. Those Bil- 
berry clan gatherings always are. You have said so 
yourself often enough.” 

“Of course I have,” returned Dolly. “And of 
course it will be, but it would be dreadfully indis- 
creet to let the Bilberry element know I thought 
so. The Bilberry doors once closed against us, where 
is our respectability, and Phil’s chance of success 
among the Philistines ? lu is bad enough, of course, 
but there is reason to be thankful that I am the 
only victim. The rest of you would be sure to 
blunder into the B. B. B.’s [meaning the Bilberry 
black books], and that would be an agreeable state 
of affairs. ’Toinette, look at Tod, he is sitting in 
the coal-box eating Phil’s fusees.” 

In ’Toinette we find Mrs. Phil, a handsome crea- 
ture, young enough to have been in the school-room, 
but with the face and figure of a Greek goddess, and 
a pair of eyes lovely enough to haunt one’s dreams 
as a memory for a lifetime, and as to the rest, an 
inconsistent young madcap, whose beauty and spirit 
seemed only a necessary part of the household 
arrangements, and whose son and heir, in the person 
of the enterprising Tod (an abbreviate of Theodore), 
was the source of unlimited domestic enjoyment and 


10 


VAGABONDIA. 


the object of much indiscreet adoration. It was just 
like Philip Crewe, this marrying on probabilities ; 
and it was equally like the rest of them to accept 
the state of affairs as an excellent joke, and regard 
the result as an exquisite piece of pleasantry. 
'Toinette herself was only another careless, unworldly 
addition to the family circle, and enjoyed her position 
as thoroughly as the rest did ; and as to Tod, what 
a delicate satire upon responsibilities Tod was, and 
how tranquilly he comported himself under a regime 
which admitted of free access into dangerous places, 
and a lack of personal restraint which allowed him 
all the joys the infantile mind can revel in ! 

At Dolly's exclamation 'Toinette rushed at him in 
his stronghold, and extricated him from the coal-box 
with demonstrations of dismay. 

“ Look at his white dress ! " she wailed pathetically. 
“ I only put it on a few minutes ago ; and he has 
eaten two dozen fusees, if this was n’t an empty box 
when he found it. I hope they won't disagree with 
him, Phil.” 

“ They won’t,” said Phil, composedly. “ Nothing 
does. Dust him, and proceed to business. I want 
to hear the rest of Dolly’s story.” 

“I think” said Mollie, “that he ate Shem and 
Ham this morning, for I could only find Japheth after 
he had been playing with his Noah's Ark. Go on, 
Dolly.” 


VAGABONDIA. 


11 


“Wait until I have taken off my things/’ said 
Dolly, “ and then we ’ll talk it over. We must talk 
it over, you know, if I am to go.” 

She took off her hat, and then laid her shawl 
aside, — a little scarlet shawl, draped about her fig- 
ure and tossed over one shoulder smartly, and by no 
means ungracefully, — and so stood revealed ; and it 
must be admitted she was well worth looking at. 
Not a beauty, but a fresh, wholesome little body, 
with a real completion, an abundance of hair, and 
large-irised, wide-awake eyes, changeable as to color, 
because capricious in expression ; the sort of girl, in 
fact, who would be likely to persuade people ulti- 
mately that, considering circumstances, absolute 
beauty could be easily dispensed with, and, upon the 
whole, would rather detract from the general charm 
of novelty, which, in her case, reigned supreme. 

“ It is n’t the mere fact of being a beauty that makes 
women popular,” she would say ; “ it ’s the being 
able to persuade people that you are one, — or better 
than one. Don’t some historians tell us that Cleo- 
patra had red hair and questionable eyes, and yet she 
managed to blind the world so completely, that no 
one is sure whether it is true or not, and to this day 
the generality of people are inclined to believe that 
it was her supernatural beauty that dragged Marc 
Antony to the dust at her feet.” 

Aimee’s face was more nearly perfect than Dolly’s ; 


12 


VAGABONDIA. 


Mollie’s was more imposing, child as she was ; ’Toi- 
nette threw her far into the shade in the matter of 
statuesque splendor ; but still it was Dolly who did 
all the difficult things, and had divers tragic adven- 
tures with questionable adorers, whose name was le- 
gion, and who were a continual source of rejoicing 
and entertainment to the family. 

Having tossed hat and shawl on to the table, among 
the manuscript music, paint-brushes, and palettes, 
this young person slipped into the most comfortable 
chair near the fire, and, having waited for the rest 
to seat themselves, proceeded to open the council. 
Mollie, who was sixteen, large, fair, beautiful, and not 
as tidy as she might have been, dropped into a not 
ungraceful position at her feet. Aimee, who was a 
little maiden with a tender, spirituelle face, and all 
the forethought of the family, sat near, with some 
grave perplexity in her expression. ’Toinette and 
Tod, posed in the low nursery-chair, — the girl’s firm, 
whjte arm flung around the child, — swung lightly 
to and fro, fit models for an artist. 

“ You would make a first-class picture, — the lot of 
you,” commented Phil, amicably. 

“ Never mind the picture,” said Mollie, drawing her 
disreputable slippers up under her wrapper. “We 
want to hear how Dolly thinks of going to the Bil- 
berrys’. Oh, Dolly, how heavenly it would be if you 
had a turquoise-blue sat — ” 


VAGABONDIA. 


1 0 

O 

“ Heavenly ! ” interrupted Dolly. “ I should think 
so. Particularly celestial for Lady Augusta, who 
looks mahogany-colored in it, and peculiarly ce- 
lestial for a poor relation from Vagabondia. It 
would be as much as my reputation was worth. She 
would never forgive me. You must learn discretion, 
Mollie. ,, 

“ There is some consolation in knowing you can’t 
get it,” said ’Toinette. “You won’t be obliged to 
deny yourself or be indiscreet. But what are you 
going to wear, Dolly ? ” 

“ That is for the council to decide,” Dolly returned. 
“ First, we must settle on what we want, and then we 
must settle on the way to get it.” 

“ Other people go the other way about it,” said 
Aimee. 

“ If we were only rich ! ” said Mollie. 

“ But it is a most glaringly patent fact that we are 
not,” said Dolly. “ There is one thing certain, how- 
ever, — it must be white.” 

“ A simple white muslin,” suggested ’Toinette/ 
struggling in the grasp of the immortal Tod, — “ a 
simple white muslin, with an equally simple wilcl 
flower in your hair, a la Amanda Fitzallan. How the 
Dowager Bilberry would like that.” 

“ And a wide blue sash,” suggested Mollie. “ And 
the sleeves tied up with bows. And tucks, Dolly. 
Girls, just think of Dolly making great eyes at an 


14 


VAGABONDIA. 


eligible Philistine, in white muslin and a sash and 
tucks ! ” 

She was a hardened little sinner, this Dolly, her only 
redeeming point being that she was honest enough 
about her iniquities, — so honest that they were really 
not such terrible iniquities after all, and were re- 
garded as rather good fun by the habitues of Vaga- 
bonds proper. She laughed just as heartily as the 
rest of them at Mollie’s speech. She could no more 
resist the temptation of making great eyes at eligible 
Philistines than she could help making them at the 
entertaining but highly ineligible Bohemians, who 
continually frequented Phil’s studio. The fear of 
man was not before her eyes, and the life she had led 
had invested her with a whimsical yet shrewd knowl- 
edge of human nature, and a business-like habit of 
looking matters in the face, which made her some- 
thing of a novelty ; and when is not novelty irresisti- 
ble ? And as to the masculine Philistines, — well, 
the audacity of Dolly’s successes in the very midst of 
the enemy’s camp had been the cause of much stately 
demoralization of Philistine battalions. 

At her quietest she created small sensations and 
attracted attention ; but in her wicked moods, when 
she was in a state of mind to prompt her to revenge 
the numerous small slights and overt acts of lofty 
patronage she met with, the dowagers stood in some 
secret awe of her propensities, and not without rea- 


V A GABONDIA . 


15 


son. Woe betide the daring matron who measured 
swords with her at such times. Great would be her 
confusion and dire her fall before the skirmish was 
over, and nothing was more certain than that she 
would retire from the field a wiser if not a better 
woman. After being triumphantly routed with great 
slaughter on two or three occasions, the enemy had 
discovered this, and decided mentally that it was 
more discreet to let “ little Miss Crewe ” alone, con- 
sidering that, though it was humiliating to be routed, 
even by one of their own forces, it was infinitely more 
so to be routed by an innocent-looking young person, 
whose position was questionable, and who actually 
owed her vague shadow of respectability to her dis- 
tant but august relative, the Lady Augusta Decima 
Crewe Bilberry, wife of the Rev. Marmaduke Sholto 
Bilberry, and mother of the plenteous crop of young 
Bilberrys, to whom little Miss Crewe was music 
teacher and morning governess. 

So it was that Mollie’s joke about the tucks and 
white muslin gained additional point from the family 
recollection of past experiences. 

“ But,” said Dolly, when the laugh had subsided, 
“ it won’t do to talk nonsense all day. Here ’s where 
we stand, you know. Coffee and conversation on 
Friday night on one side, and nothing but my drag- 
gled old green tarlatan on the other, and it ’s Tues- 
day now.” 


16 


VAGABONDIA. 


* And the family impecuniosity being a fact weli 
established in the family mind,” began Phil, with 
composure. 

“ But that 's nonsense,” interrupted Aimee. “ And, 
as Dolly says, nonsense won't do now. But,” with a 
quaint sigh, “ we always do talk nonsense.” 

But here a slight diversion was created. Mrs. Phil 
jumped up, with an exclamation of delight, and, drop- 
ping Tod on to Mollie’s lap, disappeared through the 
open door. 

“ I will be back in a minute,” she called back to 
them, as she ran up-stairs. “ I have just thought of 
something.” 

“ Girls,” said Mollie, “ it 's her white merino.” 

And so it was. In a few minutes she reappeared 
with it, — a heap of soft white folds in her arms, and 
a yard or so of the train dragging after her upon the 
carpet, — the one presentable relic of a once incon- 
sistently elaborate bridal trousseau, at present in 
a rather tumbled and rolled-up condition, but still 
white and soft and thick, and open to unlimited 
improvement. 

“ I had forgotten all about it,” she said, trium- 
phantly. “ I have never needed it at all, and I knew 
I never should when I bought it, but it looked so 
nice when I saw it that I could n't help buying it. I 
once thought of cutting it up into things for Tod ; but 
it seems to me, Dolly, it 's what you want exactly, 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


17 


and Tod can trust to Providence, — things always 
come somehow.” 

It was quite characteristic of Yagabondia that there 
should be more rejoicing over this one stray sheep of 
good luck than there would have been over any 
ninety and nine in the ordinary folds of more pros- 
perous people. And Mrs. Phil rejoiced as heartily as 
the rest. It was her turn now, and she was as ready 
to sacrifice her white merino on the shrine of the 
household impecuniosity as she would be to borrow 
Dolly's best bonnet, or Mollie's shoes, or Aimee’s 
gloves, when occasion demanded such a course. So 
the merino was laid upon the table, and the council 
rose to examine, comment, and suggest. 

“ A train,” said Dolly, concisely ; “ no trimming, and 
swan’s-down. Even the Bilberry could n't complain 
of that, I 'm sure.” 

Mollie, resting her smooth white elbows on the 
table in a comfortably lounging posture, regarded the 
garment with great longing in her drowsy brown eyes. 

“ I wish it was white satin,” she observed, some- 
what irrelevantly, “ and I was going to wear it at a 
real ball, with real lace, you know, and a court train, 
and flowers, and a fan.” 

Dolly looked down at her handsome childish face 
good-naturedly. She was such an incongruous mix- 
ture of beauty and utter simplicity, this easy-going 
baby of sixteen, that Dolly could not have helped 
2 




18 V A GA B ONDIA . 

liking her heartily under any circumstances, even 
supposing there had been no tie of relationship be- 
tween them. 

“ I wish it was white satin and you were going to 
wear it,” she said. “White satin is just the sort of 
thing for you, Mollie. Never mind, wait until the 
figurative ship comes in.” 

“And in the interval,” suggested Aimee, “put a 
stitch or so in that wrapper of yours. It has been 
torn for a week now, and Tod tumbles over it half a 
dozen times every morning before breakfast.” 

Mollie cast her eyes over her shoulder to give it 
an indifferent glance as it rested on the faded carpet 
behind her. 

“ I wish Lady Augusta would mend things before 
she sends them to us,” she said, with sublime naiwtt, 
and then, at the burst of laughter which greeted her 
words, she stopped short, staring at the highly en- 
tertained circle with widely opened, innocent eyes. 
“ What are you laughing at ? ” she said. “ I ’m sure 
she might. She is always preaching about liking 
to have something to occupy her time, and it would 
be far more charitable of her to spend her time in 
that way than in persistently going into poor houses 
where the people don’t want her, and reading tracts 
to them that they don’t want to hear.” 

Dolly’s appreciation of the audacity of the idea 
reached a climax in an actual shriek of delight. 


VA GABONDIA . 


19 


* If I had five pounds, which I have not, and never 
shall have,” she said, “ I would freely give it just to 
see Lady Augusta hear you say that, my dear. Five 
pounds ! I would give ten — twenty — fifty, if need 
be. It would be such an exquisite joke.” 

But Mollie did not regard the matter in this light. 
To her unsophisticated mind Lady Augusta repre- 
sented nothing more than periodical boredom in the 
shape of occasional calls, usually made unexpectedly, 
when the house was at its worst, and nobody was es- 
pecially tidy, — calls invariably enlivened by severe 
comments upon the evil propensities of poor relations 
in general, and the shocking lack of respectability in 
this branch of the order in particular. Worldly wis- 
dom was not a family trait, Dolly’s half-whimsical 
assumption of it being the only symptom of the ex- 
istence of such a gift, and Mollie was the most sub- 
limely thoughtless of the lot. Mrs. Phil had never 
been guilty of a discreet act in her life. Phil himself 
regarded consequences less than he regarded anything 
else, and Aimee’s childish staidness and forethought 
had certainly not an atom of worldliness in it. Ac- 
cordingly, Dolly was left to battle with society, and 
now and then, it must be admitted, the result of her 
brisk affrays did her no small credit. 

For a very short space of time the merino was be- 
ing disposed of to an advantage ; Dolly seating her- 
self in her chair again to renovate the skirt ; Aimee 


20 


VAGABONDIA . 


unpicking the bodice, and Mollie looking on with 
occasional comments. 

“ Here is Griffith," she said, at last, glancing over 
her shoulder at a figure passing the window ; and the 
next minute the door was opened without ceremony, 
and “ Grif ” made his appearance upon the scene. 

Being called upon to describe Griffith Donne, one 
would hardly feel inclined to describe him as being 
imposing in personal appearance. He was a thin, 
undersized young man, rather out at elbows and 
shabby of attire, and with a decided air of Bohemia 
about him ; but his youthful face was singularly pleas- 
ing and innocent, and his long-lashed, brown-black 
eyes were more than good-looking, — they were ab- 
solutely beautiful in a soft, pathetic way, — beautiful 
as the eyes of the loveliest of women. 

He came into the room as if he was used to coming 
into it in an every-day fashion ; and Dolly, looking 
up, gave him a smile and a nod. 

“ Ah, you are all here, are you ? ” he said. “ What 
is on hand now ? What is all this white stuff for ? ” 
And he drew a chair up close by Dolly's side, and 
lifted the merino in his hand. 

“ For Friday night," answered Aimee. “ Bilberry’s 
again, Griffith. Coffee and conversation this time." 

Griffith looked at Dolly inquiringly, but Dolly only 
laughed and shrugged her plump shoulders wick- 
edly. 


VAOABONDIA. 


21 


“ Look here,” he said, with a disapproving air, “ it 
ain't true, is it, Dolly ? You are not going to make 
a burnt-offering of yourself on the Bilberry shrine 
again, are you ? ” 

But Dolly only laughed the more as she took the 
merino from him. 

"If you want a breadth of merino to hold, take 
another one,” she said. “I want that. And as to 
being a burnt-offering on the shrine of Bilberry, my 
dear Griffith, you must know it is policy,” and imme- 
diately went on with her unpicking again, while Grif- 
fith, bending over in an attitude more remarkable for 
ease than grace, looked on at her sharp little glancing 
scissors with an appearance of great interest. 

It would perhaps be as well to pause here to account 
for this young man's evident freedom in the family 
circle. It was very plain that he was accustomed to 
coming and going when he pleased, and it was easy 
to be adduced from his manner that, to him, Dolly 
was the chief attraction in the establishment. The 
fact was, he was engaged to Dolly, and had been en- 
gaged to her for years, and in all probability, unless 
his prospects altered their aspect, would be engaged 
to her for years to come. In past time, when both 
were absurdly young, and ought to have been at 
school, the two had met, — an impressionable, good- 
natured, well-disposed couple of children, who fell 
in love with each other unreasoningly and honestly, 


22 


VAGABONDIA. 


giving no thought to the future. They were too young 
to be married, of course, and indeed had not troubled 
themselves about anything so matter of fact ; they had 
fallen in love, and enjoyed it, and, strange to say, had 
been enjoying it ever since, and falling in love more 
deeply every day of their affectionate, inconsequent, 
free-and-easy lives. What did it matter to them that 
neither owned a solitary sixpence, for which they had 
not a thousand uses ? What did it matter to Dolly 
that Griffith’s literary career had so far been so unre- 
munerative that a new suit is as an event, and an 
extra shilling an era ? What did it matter to Griffith 
that Dolly’s dresses were re-trimmed and re-turned and 
re-furbished, until their reappearance with the various 
seasons was the opening of a High Carnival of jokes ? 
Love is not a matter of bread and butter in Vaga- 
bonds, thank Heaven ! Love is left to Bohemia as 
well as to barren Bespectability, and, as Griffith fre- 
quently observed with no slight enthusiasm, “ When 
it comes to figure, where ’s the feminine Philistine 
whose silks and satins and purple and fine raiment 
fit like Dolly’s do ? ” So it went on, and the two 
adored each other with mutual simplicity, and, having 
their little quarrels, always made them up again with 
much affectionate remorse, and, scorning the pruden- 
tial advice of outsiders, believed in each other and 
the better day which was to come, when one or the 
other gained worldly goods enough to admit of a 


V A GABONDIA . 


23 


marriage in which they were to be happy in their 
own way, — which, I may add, was a way simple and 
tender, unselfish and faithful, enough. 

It was quite evident, however, that Griffith was 
not in the best of spirits this morning. He was not 
as sanguine as Dolly by nature, and outward influ- 
ences tended rather to depress him occasionally. But 
he never was so low-spirited that Dolly could not 
cheer him, consequently he always came to her with 
his troubles ; and to her credit, be it said, she never 
failed to understand and deal with them tenderly, 
commonplace though they were. So she understood 
his mood very well to-day. Something had gone 
wrong at “ the office.” (“ The office ” was the edito- 
rial den which swallowed him up, and held him in 
bondage from morning until night ; appropriating his 
labor for a very small pecuniary compensation, too, it 
may be added.) “ Old Flynn,” as the principal was 
respectfully designated, had been creating one of his 
periodical disturbances, or he had been snubbed, 
which, by the way, was not a rare event, and to poor 
Griffith slights were stings and patronage poison. 
He could not laugh at the enemy and scorn discom- 
fiture as Dolly could, and the consequence of an 
encounter with the Philistines on his part was usu- 
ally a desperate fit of low spirits, which made him 
wretched, bitter, and gloomy by turns. 

This morning it appeared that his spirits had 


24 


VAGABONDIA. 


reached their lowest ebb, and before many minutes 
had passed he was pouring forth his tribulations with 
much frankness and simplicity. Mr. Griffith Donne’s 
principal trial was the existence of an elderly maiden 
aunt, who did not approve of him, and was in the habit 
of expressing her disapproval in lengthy epistolary 
correspondence, invariably tending to severe denuncia- 
tion of his mode of life, and also invariably terminating 
with the announcement that unless he “ desisted ” 
(from what, or in what manner, not specified) she 
should consider it her bounden duty to disinherit him 
forthwith. One of these periodical epistles, having 
arrived before he had breakfasted, had rather de- 
stroyed Griffith’s customary equanimity, and various 
events of the morning had not improved his frame of 
mind ; consequently he came to Dolly for comfort. 

“ And she ’s coming to London, too,” he ended, after 
favoring the assemblage with extracts from the letter. 
“ And, of course, she will expect me to do the dutiful. 
Confound her money! I wish she would build an 
asylum for irate, elderly spinsters with it, and retire 
into it for the remainder of her natural life. I don’t 
want it, and” — with praiseworthy ingenuousness — 
“I shouldn’t get it if I did!” 

“ But,” said Dolly, when they found themselves 
alone for a few minutes, “ it would be an agreeable 
sort of thing to have, Griffith, upon the whole, 
wouldn’t it?” 


VAGABONDIA. 


25 


They were standing close together by the fire, Grif- 
fith with his arm thrown round the girl’s waist, and 
she with both her plump, flexible hands clasped on his 
shoulder and her chin resting on them, and her big, 
round eyes gazing up into his. She was prone to 
affectionate, nestling attitudes and coaxing ways — 
with Griffith it may be understood — her other adorers 
were treated cavalierly enough. 

“ A nice sort of thing,” echoed Griffith. “ I should 
think it would. I should like to have it for your sake. 
I don’t care for it so much for myself, you know, 
Dolly, but I want the time to come when I can buy 
you such things as Old Flynn’s nieces wear. It 
would n’t be a waste of good material on such a figure 
as yours. I have an idea of my own about a winter 
dress I intend you to have when we are rich, — a dark 
blue velvet, and a hat with a white plume in, and one 
of those muff affairs made of long white silky fur — ” 

“ Angora,” said Dolly, her artless enjoyment of the 
idea shining in her eyes. “ Angora, Griffith.” 

“ I don’t know what it ’s called,” answered Griffith, 
“ but it is exactly your style, and I have thought about 
it a dozen times. Ah, if we were only rich ! ” 

Dolly laughed joyously, clasping her hands a little 
closer over his shoulder. Their conversations upon 
prospects generally ended in some such pleasantly 
erratic remarks. They never were tired of supposing 
that they were rich ; and really, in default of being 


26 


VAGABONDIA. 


rich, it must be admitted that there is some consolation 
in being in a frame of mind which can derive happi- 
ness from such innocent day-dreams. 

“ Just think of the house we would have,” she said, 
‘ and the fun we could all have together, if you and I 
were rich and — and married, Griffith. We should be 
happy if we were married, and not rich, but if we were 
rich and married — goodness, Griffith !” and she 
opened her eyes wide and looked so enjoyable alto- 
gether, that Griffith, being entirely overcome by reason 
of the strength of his feelings upon the subject, caught 
her in both arms and embraced her heartily, and only 
released her in an extremely but charmingly crushed 
and dishevelled condition, after he had kissed her about 
half a dozen times. 

It did not appear, upon the whole, that she objected 
to the proceeding. She took it quite naturally and 
unaffectedly, as if she was used to it, and regarded it 
as a part of the programme. Indeed, it was quite a 
refreshing sight to see her put both her little hands up 
to her disarranged hair and settle the crimps serenely. 

“ We should have the chances to find true people if 
we were rich,” she said. “ And then we could take 
care of Aimee and Mollie, and help them to make 
grand marriages. ,, 

But that very instant Griffith's face fell some- 
what. 

“ Dolly,” he said, “ have you never thought — not 


VAGABONDIA. 


27 


even thought that you would like to have made a grand 
marriage yourself ? ” And though there was not the 
least shade of a reason for the change in his mood, it 
was glaringly evident that he was at once rendered 
absolutely prostrate with misery at the thought. 

These sudden pangs of remorse at his own selfish- 
ness in holding the girl bound to him, were his weak- 
ness, and Dolly’s great difficulty was to pilot him safely 
through his shoals of doubt and self-reproach, and she 
had her own way of managing it. Just now her way 
of managing it was to confront him bravely, coming 
quite close to him again, and taking hold of one of his 
coat buttons. 

“ I have thought of it a hundred times,” she said, 
“ but not since I have belonged to you ; and as I have 
belonged to you ever since I was fifteen years old, I 
should think what I thought before then can hardly 
have the right to trouble us now. You never think of 
marrying any one but me, do you, Griffith ? ” 

“ Think of marrying any one else ! ” exclaimed Grif- 
fith, indignantly. “ I would n’t marry a female Rajah 
with a diamond — ” 

“I know you wouldn’t,” Dolly interrupted. “I 
believe in you, Griffith. Why won’t you believe in 
me ? ” And the eyes lifted to his were so perfectly 
honest and straightforward that the sourest of cynics 
must have believed them, and Griffith was neither sour 
nor a cynic, but simply an unsuccessful, affectionate. 


28 


VAGABONDIA. 


contradictory young man, too susceptible to outward 
influences for his own peace of mind. 

He was a very unfortunate young man, it may as 
well be observed at once, and his misfortunes were all 
the harder to bear because he was not to blame for 
them. He had talent, and was industrious and inde- 
fatigable, and yet, somehow or other, the Fates seemed 
to be against him. If he had been less honest or less 
willing, he might perhaps have been more successful ; 
but in his intercourse with the world’s slippery ones 
he customarily found himself imposed upon. He had 
done hard work for which he had never been paid, 
and work for which he had been paid badly ; he had 
fought honestly to gain footing, and, somehow or other, 
luck had seemed to be against him, for certainly he 
had not gained it yet. Honest men admired and re- 
spected him, and men of intellectual worth prophe- 
sied better days ; but so far it had really seemed that 
the people who were willing to befriend him were 
powerless, and those who were powerful cared little 
about the matter. So he alternately struggled and 
despaired, and yet retained his good nature, and occa- 
sionally enjoyed life heartily in defiance of circum- 
stances. With every member of the Crewe household 
he was popular, from Tod to Mrs. Phil. His engage- 
ment to Dolly they regarded as a satisfactory arrange- 
ment. That he was barely able to support himself, 
and scarcely possessed a presentable suit of clothes, 


VAGABONDIA . 


29 


wa» to their minds the most inconsequent of trifles. 
It was unfortunate, perhaps, but unavoidable; and 
their sublime trust in the luck which was to ripen in 
all of them at some indefinite future time, was their 
hope in this case. Some time or other he would “ get 
into something,” they had decided, and then he would 
marry Dolly, and they would all enjoy the attendant 
festivities. And in the mean time they allowed the 
two to be happy, and made Griffith welcome, inviting 
him to their little impromptu suppers, and taking 
care never to be de trop on the occasion of tete-d-tete 
conversations. 

The tite-a-tete of the morning ended happily as 
usual. Dolly went back to her unpicking, and 
Griffith, finding his ghost of self-reproach laid for the 
time being, watched her in a supremely blissful state 
of mind. He never tired of watching her, he fre- 
quently told her in enthusiastic confidence. The 
charm in Dolly Crewe was her adaptability ; she was 
never out of place, and it had been said that she 
suited herself to her accompaniments far oftener than 
her accompaniments suited themselves to her. See- 
ing her in a shabby dress, seated in the shabby par- 
lor, one instinctively felt that shabbiness was not so 
utterly unbearable after all, and acknowledged that it 
had a brightness of its own. Meeting her at a clan 
gathering in the camps of the Philistines, one always 
found her in excellent spirits, and quite undamped in 


so 


VAGABOND1A. 


her enjoyment of the frequently ponderous rejoicings. 
In the Bilberry school-room, among dog-eared French 
grammars and lead-pencilled music, education did not 
appear actually dispiriting ; and now, as she sat by 
the fire, with the bright, sharp little scissors in her 
hand, and the pile of white merino on her knees and 
trailing on the hearth-rug at her feet, Griffith found 
her simply irresistible. Ah ! the bliss that revealed 
itself in the prospect of making her Mrs. Donne, and 
taking possession of her entirely ! The joy of seeing 
her seated in an arm-chair of his own, by a fire which 
was solely his property, in a room which was nobody 
else’s paradise ! He could imagine so well how she 
would regard such a state of affairs as a nice little 
joke, and would pretend to adapt herself to her posi- 
tion with divers daring witcheries practised upon 
himself to the dethroning of his reason ; how she 
would make innocent, wicked speeches, and be coax- 
ing and dazzling and mock-matronly by turns ; and 
above all, how she would enjoy it, and make him en- 
joy it, too ; and yet sometimes, when they were quiet 
and alone, would drop all her whimsical little airs and 
graces, and make such tender, unselfish, poetic little 
speeches, that he would find himself startled in his 
wonder at the depth and warmth and generosity of 
her girlish heart. He often found her surprising him 
after this manner, and the surprise usually came 
when he had just been most nearly betrayed into 


VAGABONDIA. 


31 


thinking of her as an adorable little collection of 
witcheries and whimsicalities, and forgetting that she 
had other moods. More than once she had abso- 
lutely brought tears into his eyes, and a thrill to his 
heart, by some sudden, pathetic, trustful speech, made 
after she had been dazzling and bewildering for 
hours with her pretty coquetries and daring flashes of 
wit. No one but Griffith ever saw her in these in- 
tense moods. The rest of them saw her intense 
enough sometimes but the sudden, uncontrollable 
flashes of light Griffith saw now and then, fairly stag- 
gered him. And the poor fellow’s love for her was 
something akin to adoration. There was only this 
one woman upon earth to him, and his whole soul 
was bound up in her. It was for her he struggled 
against disappointment, it was for her he hoped, it 
was only the desperate strength of his love for her 
that made disappointment so terribly bitter to him. 
Certainly his love made him better and sweeter-tem- 
pered and more energetic than he would have been if 
his life had not been so full of it. His one ambition 
was to gain success to lay at her feet. To him suc- 
cess meant Dolly, and Dolly meant Paradise, an hon- 
est Paradise, in which primeval bliss reigned supreme 
and trial was unknown. Consequently the bright lit- 
tle scissors glanced before his eyes a sort of loadstar. 

“ I did n’t tell you that nephew of Old Flynn’s had 
come back, did I ? ” he said, at length. 


32 


VAGAB0ND1A . 


“ No,” answered Dolly, snipping diligently. “ Yon 
never mentioned him. What nephew, and where did 
he come from ? ” 

“ A fellow of the name of Gowan, who has been 
travelling in the East for no particular reason for the 
last ten years. He called on Flynn, at the office, to- 
day, for the first time ; and if I had been called upon 
to kick him out, I should have regarded it as a cheer- 
ful and improving recreation.” 

“ Why ? ” laughed Dolly. “ Is he one of the Phi- 
listines ? ” 

“ Philistine ! ” echoed Griffith, with disgust. “ I 
should think so. A complacent idiot in a chronic 
state of fatigue. Drove up to the door in a cab, — 
his own, by the way, and a confoundedly handsome 
affair it is, — gave the reins to his tiger, and stared 
at the building tranquilly for at least two minutes 
before he came in, stared at Old Flynn when he did 
come in, stared at me, shook hands with Old Flynn 
exhaustedly, and then subsided into listening and 
paring his nails during the remainder of the inter- 
view.” 

“ Which might or might not be discreet under the 
circumstances,” said Dolly. “ Perhaps he had noth- 
ing to say. Never mind, Grif. Let us console our- 
selves with the thought that we are not as these 
utterly worthless explorers of the East are,” with a 
flourish of the scissors. 


VAGABONDIA. 


33 


“ Better is a dinner of herbs in Vagabondia, with 
a garnish of conversation and Ion-mots, than a stalled 
ox among the Philistines with dulness.” 

But about an hour after Griffith had taken his de- 
parture, as she was bending over the table, industri- 
ously clipping at the merino, a thought suddenly 
crossed her mind, which made her drop her scissors 
and look up meditatively. 

“ By the way,” she began, all at once. “ Yes, it 
must be ! How was it I did not think of it when 
Grif was talking ? I am sure, it was Gowan, Lady 
Augusta said. To be sure it was. Mollie, this ex- 
ploring nephew of the Flynns is to partake of coffee 
and conversation with us at the Bilberry s’ on Friday, 
if I am not mistaken, and I never remembered it 
until now ” 


CHAPTEE II. 


IN THE CAMPS OF THE PHILISTINES. 

TOILET in Vagabondia was an event. Not an 



ordinary toilet, of course, but a toilet extraor- 
dinary, — such as is necessarily called forth by some 
festive gathering or unusual occasion. It was also 
an excitement after a manner, and not a disagreeable 
one. It made demands upon the inventive and cre- 
ative powers of the whole family, and brought to 
light hidden resources. It also aroused energy, and, 
being a success, was rejoiced over as a brilliant suc- 
cess. Eespectability might complacently retire to its 
well-furnished chamber, and choose serenely from its 
unlimited supply of figurative purple and legendary 
fine linen, without finding a situation either dramatic 
or amusing ; but in Vagabondia this was not the case. 

Having contrived to conjure up, as it were, from 
the secret places of the earth an evening dress, are 
not gloves still necessary ? and, being safe as regards 
gloves, do not the emergencies of the toilet call for 
minor details seemingly unimportant, but still not to 
be done without ? Finding this to be the case, the 
household of Crewe rallied all its forces upon such 


VAGABONDIA. 


35 


occasions, and set aside all domestic arrangements 
for the time being. It was not impossible that Dolly 
should have prepared for a rejoicing without the 
assistance of Mollie and Aimde, Mrs. Phil and Tod, 
with occasional artistic suggestions from Phil and 
any particular friend of the family who chanced to 
be below-stairs, within hearing distance. It might 
not have appeared an impossibility, I should say, to 
ordinary people, but the household of Crewe regarded 
it as such, and accordingly, on the night of the Bil- 
berry gathering, accompanied Dolly in a body to her 
tiring-room. 

Upon the bed lay the merino dress, white, modest, 
and untrimmed, save for the swan’s-down accompa- 
niments, but fitting to a shade and exhibiting an 
artistic sweep of train. 

“ It is a discreet sort of garment,” said Dolly, by 
way of comment; “and it is ‘suitable to our social 
position.’ Do you remember when Lady Augusta 
said that about my black alpaca, girls ? Pleasant lit- 
tle observation, was n’t it ? ’Toinette, I trust hair-pins 
are not injurious to infantile digestive organs. If 
they are, perhaps it would be as well to convince Tod 
that such is the case. What is the matter, Mollie ? ” 

Mollie, leaning upon the dressing-table in her 
favorite attitude, was looking rather discontented. 
She was looking very pretty, also, it might be said. 
Her sleepy, warm brown eyes, being upraised to 


36 


VAGABONDIA. 


Dolly, showed larger and warmer and browner than 
usual ; the heavy brown locks, tumbling down over 
her shoulders, caught a sort of brownish, coppery 
shade in the flare of gas-light ; there was a flush on 
her soft cheeks, and her ripe lips were curved in a 
lovely dissatisfaction. Hence Dolly’s remark. 

“ I wish I was going,” said the child. 

Dolly’s eyes flew open wide, in a very sublimity 
of astonishment. 

“Wish you were going? ’’she echoed. “To the 
Bilberrys’ ? ” 

Mollie nodded. 

“ Yes, even there. I want to go somewhere. I think 
I should enjoy myself a little anywhere. I should 
like to see the people, and hear them talk, and find 
out what they do, and wear an evening dress.” 

Dolly gazed at her in mingled pity and bewilder- 
ment. 

“ Mollie,” she said, “ you are very innocent ; and I 
always knew you were very innocent ; but I did not 
know you were as innocent as this, — so utterly free 
from human guile that you could imagine pleasure 
in a Bilberry rejoicing. And I believe,” still regard- 
ing her with that questioning pity, “ — I believe you 
really could . I must keep an eye on you, Mollie. 
You are too unsophisticated to be out of danger.” 

It was characteristic of her good-natured sympathy 
for the girl that it should occur to her the next min- 


V A GABONDIA . 


37 


ute that perhaps it might please her to see herself 
donned even in such modest finery as the white 
merino. She understood her simple longings after 
unattainable glories so thoroughly, and she was so 
ready to amuse her to the best of her ability. So 
she suggested it. 

“ Put it on, Mollie,” she said, “ and let us see how 
you would look in it. I should like to see you in 
full dress.” 

The child rose with some faint stir of interest in 
her manner and went to the bed. 

“It wouldn’t be long enough for me if it wasn’t 
for the train,” she said ; “ but the train will make it 
long enough nearly, and I can pull it together at the 
waist.” 

She put it on at the bedside, and then came for- 
ward to the toilet-table ; and Dolly, catching sight of 
her in the glass as she advanced, turned round with 
a start. 

Standing in the light, the soft heavy white folds 
draping themselves about her statuesque curves of 
form as they might have draped themselves about 
the limbs of some young marble Grace or Goddess, 
with her white arms and shoulders uncovered, with 
her unchildish yet youthful face, with her large- 
irised eyes, her flush of momentary pleasure and 
half awkwardness, she was just a little dazzling, and 
Dolly did not hesitate to tell her so. 


38 


VAGABONDIA . 


“ You are a beauty, Mollie,” she said. “ And you 
are a woman in that dress. If you were only a Bil- 
berry now, what a capital your face would be to you, 
and what a belle you would be ! ” 

Which remarks, if indiscreet, were affectionate, and 
made in perfect good faith. 

But when, having donned the merino herself, she 
made her way down the dark staircase to the parlor, 
there was a vague ghost of uneasiness in her mind, 
and it was the sight of Mollie in full dress which 
had aroused it. 

“She is so very pretty,” she said to herself. “I 
scarcely knew how very pretty she was until I turned 
round from the glass to look at her. What a pity 
it is that we are not rich enough to do her justice, 
and let her enjoy herself as other girls do. And — 
and,” with a little sigh, “ I am afraid we are a dread- 
fully careless lot. I wonder if Phil ever thinks about 
it? And she is so innocent and ignorant too. I 
hope she won’t fall in love with anybody disreputable. 
I wish I knew how to take care of her.” 

And yet when she went into the parlor to run the 
gauntlet of family inspection, and walked across the 
floor to show the sweep of her train, and tried her 
little opera hood on Tod before putting it on herself, 
a casual observer would certainly have decided that 
she had never had a serious thought in her life. 

Griffith was there, of course. At such times his 


VAGABONDIA. 


39 


presence was considered absolutely necessary, and his 
admiration was always unbounded. His portion it 
was to tuck her under his arm and lead her out to 
the cab when the train and wraps were arranged and 
the hood put on. This evening, when he had made 
her comfortable and shut the door, she leaned out of 
the window at the last moment to speak to him. 

“I forgot to tell you, Griffith,” she said, “Lady 
Augusta said something about a Mr. Gowan to 
Mr. Bilberry the other day when she invited me. I 
wonder if it is the Gowan you were telling me about ? 
He is to be there to-night.” 

“ Of course it is,” answered Griffith, with sudden 
discontent. “ He is just the sort of fellow the Bil- 
berry s would lionize.” 

It was rather incorrect of Dolly to feel, as she did, 
a sudden flash of anticipation. She could not help 
it. This intense appreciation of a novel or dramatic 
encounter with an eligible Philistine was her great 
weakness, and she made no secret of it even with her 
lover, which was unwise if frank. 

She gave her fan a wicked flirt, and her eyes 
flashed as she did it. 

“ A mine of valuable information lies unexplored 
before me,” she said. “I must make minute inquiries 
concerning the habits and peculiarities of the people 
of the East. I shall take the lion in tow, and Lady 
Augusta's happiness will be complete.” 


40 


VAGABONDIA. 


Griffith turned pale — his conquering demon was 
jealousy. 

“ Look here, Dolly,” he began. 

But Dolly settled herself in her seat again, and 
waved her hand with an air of extreme satisfaction. 
She did not mean to make him miserable, and would 
have been filled with remorse if she had quite under- 
stood the extent of the suffering she imposed upon 
him sometimes merely through her spirit, and the 
daring onslaughts she made upon people for whom 
she cared little or nothing. She understood his nu- 
merous other peculiarities pretty thoroughly, but she 
did not understand his jealousy, for the simple reason 
that she had never been jealous in her life. 

“ Tell the cabman to drive on,” she said, with a 
flourish. “ There is balm to be found even in 
Bilberry.” 

And when the man drove on she composed herself 
comfortably in a corner of the vehicle, in perfect un- 
consciousness of the fact that she had left a thorn 
behind, rankling in the bosom of the poor fellow who 
watched her from the pavement. 

She was rather late, she found, on reaching her 
destination. The parlors were full, and the more 
enterprising of the guests were beginning to group 
themselves in twos and threes, and make spasmodic 
efforts at conversation. But conversation at a Bil- 
berry assemblage was rarely a success, — it was so 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


41 


evident that to converse was a point of etiquette, and 
it was so patent that conversation was expected from 
everybody, whether they had anything to say or 
not. 

Inoffensive individuals of retiring temperament, 
being introduced to each other solemnly and with 
ceremony, felt that to be silent was to be guilty of a 
glaring breach of Bilberry decorum, and, casting about 
in mental agony for available remarks, found none, 
and were overwhelmed with amiable confusion. 
Lady Augusta herself, in copper-colored silk of the 
most unbending quality and make, was not condu- 
cive to cheerfulness. Yet Dolly's first thought on 
catching sight of her this evening was a cheerful if 
audacious one. 

“ She looks as if she was dressed in a boiler,” she 
commented, inwardly. “I wonder if I shall ever 
live so long — I wonder if I ever could live long 
enough to submit to a dress like that. And yet she 
seems to be almost happy in the possession of it. 
But, I dare say, that is the result of conscious 
virtue.” 

It was a very fortunate thing for Dolly that she 
was not easily discomposed. Most girls entering a 
room full of people, evidently unemployed, and in 
consequence naturally prone to not too charitable 
criticism of new-comers, might have lost self-posses- 
sion. Not so Dolly Crewe. Being announced, she 


42 


VAGABONDIA. 


came in neither with unnecessary hurry nor timidly, 
and with not the least atom of shrinking from the 
eyes turned toward her ; and, simple and unassuming 
a young person as she appeared on first sight, more 
than one pair of eyes in question found themselves 
attracted by the white merino, the white shoulders, 
the elaborate tresses, and the serene, innocent-looking 
orbs. 

Lady Augusta advanced slightly to meet her, with 
a grewsome rustling of copper-colored stiffness. She 
did not approve of Dolly at any time, but she spe- 
cially disapproved of her habit of setting time at 
defiance and ignoring the consequences. 

“I am very glad to see you,” she said, with the air 
of a potentate issuing a proclamation. “I thought ” 
— somewhat severely — “that you were not coming 
at all.” 

“ Did you ? ” remarked Dolly, with tranquillity. 

“Yes,” returned her ladyship. “And I could not 
understand it. It is nine o’clock now, and I believe 
I mentioned eight as the hour.” 

“ I dare say you did,” said Dolly, unfurling her 
small downy fan, and using it with much serene 
grace; “but I wasn’t ready at eight. I hope you 
are very well.” 

“Thank you,” replied her ladyship, icily. “I 
am very well. Will you go and take a seat by 
Euphemia? I allowed her to come into the room 


V A GA B ONDIA . 


43 


to-night, and I notice that her manner is not so self- 
possessed as I should wish.” 

Dolly gave a little nod of acquiescence, and looked 
across the room to where the luckless Euphemia sat 
edged in a corner behind a row of painfully conversa- 
tional elderly gentlemen, who were struggling with 
the best intentions to keep up a theological discourse 
with the Eev. Marmaduke. Euphemia was the eldest 
Miss Bilberry. She was overgrown and angular, and 
suffered from chronic embarrassment, which was not 
alleviated by the eye of her maternal parent being 
upon her. She was one of Dolly’s pupils, and cher- 
ished a secret but enthusiastic admiration for her. 
And, upon the whole, Dolly was fond of the girl. 
She was good-natured and unsophisticated, and bore 
the consciousness of her physical and mental imper- 
fections with a humility which was almost touching 
to her friend sometimes. Catching Dolly’s eye on 
this occasion, she glanced at her imploringly, and 
then, catching the eye of her mother, blushed to the 
tips of her ears, and relapsed into secret anguish of 
mind. 

But Dolly, recognizing her misery, smiled reassur- 
ingly, and made her way across the room to her, 
insinuating herself through the theological phalanx. 

“ I am so glad you are here at last,” said the girl. 
“ I was so afraid you would n’t come. And oh, how 
nice you look, and how beautifully you manage your 


44 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


train ! I could never do it in the world. I should 
be sure to tumble over it. But nothing ever seems 
to trouble you at all. You haven’t any idea how 
lovely you were when you went across the room to 
mamma. Everybody looked at you, and I don’t won- 
der at it.” 

“ They would have looked at anybody,” answered 
Dolly, laughing. “ They had nothing else to do.” 

“ That is quite true, poor things,” sighed Euphemia, 
sympathetically. “You don’t know the worst yet, 
either. You don’t know how stupid they are and 
can be, Dolly. That old gentleman near the screen 
has not spoken one word yet, and he keeps sighing 
and wiping the top of his bald head with his pocket- 
handkerchief until I can’t keep my eyes off him, and 
I am afraid he has noticed me. I don’t mean any 
harm, I ’m sure, but I have got nothing to do myself, 
and I can’t help it. But what I was going to say 
was, that people looked at you as they did not look 
at others who came in. You seem different some way. 
And I’m sure that Mr. Go wan of mamma’s has been 
staring at you until it is positively rude of him.” 

Dolly’s slowly moving fan became stationary for a 
moment. 

“ Mr. Gowan,” she said. “ Who is Mr. Gowan ? ” 

“One of mamma’s people,” answered Euphemia, 
“though I’m sure I can’t quite understand how he 
can be one of them. He looks so different from the 


VAGABONDIA. 


45 


rest. He is very rich, you know, and very aristo- 
cratic, and has travelled a great deal. He has been 
all over the world, they say. There he is at that 
side-table.” 

Dolly’s eyes, travelling round the assemblage with 
complacent indifference, rested at last on the side- 
table where the subject of Euphemia’s remarks sat. 

He really was an eligible Philistine, it seemed, 
despite Griffith’s unflattering description of him. 

He was a long-limbed, graceful man, with an aqui- 
line face and superb eyes, which at this moment were 
resting complacently upon Dolly herself. It was 
not exactly admiration, either, which they expressed, 
it was something of a more entertaining nature, at 
least so Dolly found it, — it was nothing more nor 
less than a slowly awakening interest in her which 
paid her the compliment of rising above the surface 
of evident boredom and overcoming lassitude. It 
looked as if he was just beginning to study her, and 
found the game worth the candle. Dolly met his 
glance with steadiness, and as she met it she meas- 
ured him. Then she turned to Euphemia again and 
fluttered the fan slowly and serenely. 

“ He ’s nice, is n’t he ? ” commented the guileless 
Phemie. “ If the rest of them were like him, I don’t 
think we should be so stupid, but as it is, you know, 
he can’t talk when there is nobody to talk to.” 

“No,” said Dolly. “One could hardly expect it 


46 


V A GABONDIA . 


of him. But I wonder why he does not say some- 
thing to that thin lady in the dress-cap.” 

" Oh, dear ! ” exclaimed Phemie, " I don't wonder 
in the least. That is Miss Berenice MacDowlas, 
Dolly.” 

"Miss Berenice MacDowlas! ” echoed Dolly, with 
a start. “ You don't say so ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Euphemia. “ Do you know her ? 
You spoke as if you did.” 

"Well — yes — no,” answered Dolly, with a half 
laugh. " I should say I know somebody who does.” 

And she looked as if she was rather enjoying some 
small joke of her own. The fact was that Miss Mac- 
Dowlas was no other than Griffith's amiable aunt. 
But, of course, it would not have done to tell this to 
Euphemia Bilberry. Euphemia's ideas on the subject 
of the tender passion were as yet crude and unformed, 
and Dolly Crewe was not prone to sentimental con- 
fidences, so, as yet, Euphemia and indeed the whole 
Bilberry family, remained in blissful ignorance of 
the very existence of such a person as Mr. Griffith 
Donne. 

If personal appearance was to be relied upon, Miss 
MacDowlas was not a promising subject for diplo- 
matic beguiling. 

"We have no need to depend upon her,” was 
Dolly's mental decision. "One glimpse of life it 
Vagabondia would end poor Griffith's chances with 


VA GAB0ND1A . 


47 


her. I wonder what she would think if she could 
see Tod in all his glory when ’Toinette and Phil are 
busy painting.” 

And her vivid recollection of the personal adorn- 
ments of Tod at such times brought a smile to her 
lips. 

She made herself very comfortable in her corner, 
and, exerting herself to her utmost to alleviate Euphe- 
mia’s sufferings, succeeded so far that the girl forgot 
everything else but her enjoyment of her friend’s 
caustic speeches and satirical little jokes. Dolly 
was not afraid of results, and, standing in no awe of 
public opinion, gave herself up to the encouraging of 
any shadow of amusement quite heartily. She was so 
entertaining in a small way upon this occasion, that 
Euphemia’s frame of mind became in some degree 
ecstatic. From her place of state across the room 
Lady Augusta regarded them with disapproval. It 
was so very evident that they were enjoying them- 
selves, and that this shocking Dorothea Crewe was 
not to be suppressed. (Dorothea, be it known, was 
Dolly’s baptismal name, and Lady Augusta held to 
its full pronunciation as a matter of duty.) It was 
useless, however, to disapprove. Behind the theo- 
logical phalanx Dolly sat enthroned plainly in the 
best of spirits, and in rather a dangerous mood, to 
judge from outward appearances. There was noth- 
ing of the poor relation about her at least. The 


48 


VA GA BONDI A . 


little snowy fan was being manipulated gracefully 
and with occasional artistic flourishes, her enjoyable 
roulades of laughter tinkled audaciously, her white 
shoulders were expressive, her gestures charming, 
and, above all, people were beginning to look at her 
admiringly, if not with absolute envy. Something 
must be done. 

Lady Augusta moved across the room, piloting her 
way between people on ottomans and people on 
chairs, rustling with awe-inspiring majesty; and, 
reaching the corner at last, she spoke to the daring 
Dolly over the heads of the phalanx. 

“ Dorothea/’ she said, “ we should like a little 
music” 

This she had expected would be a move which 
could not fail to set the young person in her right 
place. It would show her that her time was not her 
own, and that she was expected to make herself use- 
ful ; and it would also set to rights any little mis- 
take lookers-on might have previously labored under 
as to her position. But even this did not destroy 
Dolly’s equanimity. She finished the small joke she 
had been making to Phemie, and then turned to her 
august relative with a sweet but trying smile. 

“ Music?” she said. “ Certainly.” And arose at 
once. 

Then Lady Augusta saw her mistake. It was only 
another chance for Miss Dolly to display herself to 


V A G A B ONDIA . 


49 


advantage, after all. When she arose from her seat 
in the corner, and gave a glance of inspection to her 
train over her bare white shoulder, people began to 
look at her again ; and when she crossed the room, 
she was an actual Sensation, — and to create a sensa- 
tion in the Bilberry parlors was to attain a triumph. 
Worse than this, also, as her ladyship passed the bald- 
headed individual by the screen, that gentleman — who 
was a lion as regarded worldly possessions — conde- 
scended to make his first remark for the evening. 

“ Pretty girl, that,” he said. “ Nice girl, — fine 
figure. Relative ? ” 

“My daughter's governess, sir,” replied her lady- 
ship, rigidly. 

And in Dolly’s passage across the room another 
incident occurred which was not lost upon the head 
of the house of Bilberry. Near the seat of Mr. 
Ralph Gowan stood a vacated chair, which obstructed 
the passage to the piano, and, observing it, the gen- 
tleman in question rose and removed it, bowing obse- 
quiously in reply to Dolly’s slight gesture of thanks, 
and when she took her place at the instrument he 
moved to a seat near by, and settled himself to listen 
with the air of a man who expected to enjoy the 
performance. 

And he evidently did enjoy it, for a very pleasant 
little performance it was. The songs had a thrill of 
either pathos or piquancy in every word and note, 

4 


50 


VAGABOND1A. 


and the audience found they were listening in spite 
of themselves. 

When they were ended, Ealph Gowan sought out 
Lady Augusta in her stronghold, and placidly pro- 
posed being introduced to her young guest; and 
since it was evident that he intended to leave her no 
alternative, her ladyship was fain to comply ; and so, 
before half the evening was over, Dolly found herself 
being entertained as she had never been entertained 
before in the camps of the Philistines at least. And 
as to the Eastern explorer, boredom was forgotten for 
the time, and he gave himself up entirely to the 
amusing and enjoying of this piquant young person 
with the white shoulders. 

“ Crewe,” he said to her during the course of their 
first conversation. “ I am sure Lady Augusta said 
‘ Crewe/ Then you are relatives, I suppose ? ” 

“ Poor relations,” answered Dolly, coolly, and with- 
out a shadow of discomfiture. “ I am the children’s 
governess. Trying, is n’t it ? ” 

Ealph Gowan met the gaze of the bright eyes ad- 
miringly. Even at this early period of their acquaint- 
ance he was falling into the snare every other man 
fell into, — the snare of finding that Dolly Crewe 
was startlingly unlike anybody else. 

“ Not for the children,” he said. “ Under such cir- 
cumstances education must necessarily acquire a new 
charm.” 


VAGABONDIA. 


51 


“ Thank you,” said Dolly. 

When supper was announced, Lady Augusta made 
another attack and was foiled again. She came to 
their corner, and, bending over Dolly, spoke to her in 
stage-whisper. 

“I will bring young Mr. Jessup to take you into 
the supper-room, Dorothea,” she said. 

But Dolly’s plans were already arranged, and even 
if such had not been the case she would scarcely 
have rejoiced at the prospect of the escort of young 
Mr. Jessup, who was a mild young idiot engaged in 
the study of theology. 

“ Thank you, Lady Augusta ” she said, cheerfully, 
“ but I have promised Mr. Gowan.” 

And Lady Augusta had the pleasure of seeing her 
leave the room a minute later, with her small glove 
slipped through Ralph Gowan’ s arm, and the plainly 
delighted face of that gentleman inclined attentively 
toward the elaborate Frenchy coiffure. 

At the supper-table little Miss Crewe was a promi- 
nent feature. At her end of the table conversation 
flourished and cheerfulness reigned. Even Euphemia 
and young Mr. Jessup, who had come down together 
in a mutual agony of embarrassment, began to pluck 
up spirit and hazard occasional remarks, and finally 
even joined in the laughter at Dolly’s witticism. 

People lower down the table glanced up across the 
various dishes, and envied the group who seemed 


52 


V A GABONDIA . 


to set the general heaviness and discontent at do 
fiance. 

Dolly, accompanied by coffee and cakes, was more 
at home and more delightful than ever, so delightful, 
indeed, that Ealph Gowan began to regard even Lady 
Augusta with gratitude, since it was to her he was, to 
some extent, indebted for his new acquaintance. 

“ She is a delightful — yes, a delightful girl ! ” ex- 
claimed young Mr. Jessup, confidentially addressing 
Euphemia, and blushing vividly at his own boldness. 
“ I never heard such a laugh as she has in my life. 
It is actually exhilarating. It quite raises one's 
spirits,” with mild naivete. 

Euphemia began to brighten at once. She could 
talk about Dolly Crewe if she could talk about noth- 
ing else. 

“ Oh, but you have n't seen anything of her yet," 
she said, in a burst of enthusiasm. “If you could 
only see her every day, as I do, and hear the witty 
things she says, and see how self-possessed she is, 
when other people would be perfectly miserable with 
confusion, there would be no wonder at your saying 
you never saw anybody like her. I never did, I am 
sure. And then, you know, somehow or other, she 
always looks so well in everything she wears, — even 
in the shabbiest things, and her things are nearly 
always shabby enough, for they are dreadfully poor. 
She is always finding new ways of wearing things 


VAGABONDIA. 


53 


or new ways of doing her hair or — or something. 
It is the way her dresses fit, I think. Oh, dear, how 
I do wish the dressmaker could make mine fit as 
hers do ! Just look at that white merino, now, for 
instance. It is the plainest dress in the room, and 
there is not a bit of fuss or trimming about it, and 
yet see how soft the folds look and how it hangs, — 
the train, you know. It reminds me of a picture, 
— one of those pictures in fashionable monthlies, — 
illustrations of love stories, you know.” 

“It is a very pretty dress,” said young Mr. Jessup, 
eying it with great interest “What did you say 
the stuff was called ? ” 

“ Merino,” answered Phemie. 

“Merino,” repeated Mr. Jessup. “I will try and 
remember. I should like my sister Lucinda Maria to 
have a dress like it.” 

And he regarded it with growing admiration just 
tempered by the effect of a mental picture of Lucinda 
Maria, who was bony and of remarkable proportions, 
attired in its soft and flowing counterpart, with white 
swan’s-down adorning her bare shoulders. 

“ May I ask,” said Miss MacDowlas, at the bottom 
of the table, to Lady Augusta, — “ may I ask who 
that young lady with the fresh complexion is, — the 
young lady in white at the other end ? ” 

“ That is my governess,” replied her ladyship, freez- 
ingly. “ Miss Dorothea Crewe.” 


54 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


And Miss MacDowlas settled her eye-glass and 
gave Miss Dorothea Crewe the benefit of a prolonged 
examination. 

“ Crewe,” she said, at length. “Poor relation, I 
suppose ? ” with some sharpness of manner. Dignity 
was lost upon Miss MacDowlas. 

“ A branch of my family who are no great credit to 
it,” was the majestic rejoinder. 

“ Oh, indeed,” was the lady's sole remark, and then 
Miss MacDowlas returned to her coffee, still, how- 
ever, keeping her double eye-glass across her nose and 
casting an occasional glance at Dolly. 

And just at this particular moment Dolly was 
unconsciously sealing Ralph Gowan’s fate for him. 
Quite unconsciously, I repeat, for the most serious of 
Dolly’s iniquities were generally unconscious. When 
she flirted, her flirtations were of so frank and open 
a nature, that, bewildered and fascinated though her 
victims might be, they must have been blind indeed 
to have been deceived, and so there were those who 
survived them and left the field safe, though some- 
what sore at heart. But when she was in her honest, 
earnest, life-enjoying moods, and meant no harm, — 
when she was simply enjoying herself and trying to 
amuse her masculine companion, when her gestures 
were unconscious and her speeches unstudied, when 
she laughed through sheer merriment and was charm- 
ingly theatrical because she could not help it and 


VAGABONDIA. 


55 


because little bits of pathos and comedy were natural 
to her at times, then it was that the danger became 
deadly ; then it was that her admirers were regard- 
less of consequences, and defied results. And she 
was in just such a mood to-night. 

“ Come and see us ? ” she was saying. “ Of course 
you may ; and if you come, you shall have an insight 
into the domestic workings of modern Yagabondia. 
You shall be introduced to half a dozen people who 
toil not, neither do they spin successfully, for their 
toiling and spinning seems to have little result, after 
all. You shall see shabbiness and the spice of life 
hand-in-hand ; and, I dare say, you will find that the 
figurative dinner of herbs is not utterly destitute of 
a flavor of piquancy. You shall see people who en- 
joy themselves in sheer defiance of circumstances, and 
who find a pathos in every-day events, which, in the 
camps of the Philistines, mean nothing. Yes, you may 
come if you care to.” And Ealph Gowan, looking 
down at the changeful eyes, saw an almost tender light 
shining in their depths, — summoned up all at once 
perhaps by one of those inexplicable touches of pathos 
of which she had spoken. 

But even coffee and conversation must come to an 
end at last, and so the end of this evening came. 
People began to drop away one by one, bidding their 
hostess good-night with the air of individuals who 
had performed a duty, and were relieved to find it 


56 


VAGABONDIA . 


performed and disposed of for the time being. So 
Dolly, leaving her companion with a bright farewell, 
and amiably disposing of Lady Augusta, slipped 
up-stairs to the retiring-room for her wraps. In the 
course of three minutes she came down again, the 
scarlet shawl draped around her, and the highly or- 
namental hood donned. She was of so little conse- 
quence in the Bilberry household that no one met 
her when she reappeared. Even the servants knew 
that her convenience or inconvenience was of small 
moment, so the task of summoning her cab would 
have devolved upon herself, had it not been for a 
little incident, which might have been either an ac- 
cident or otherwise. As she came down the staircase 
a gentleman crossed the threshold of the parlor and 
came to meet her, — and this gentleman was no other 
than Balph Gowan. 

“Let me have the pleasure of putting you into 
your — ” 

“ Cab,” ended Dolly, with a trill of a laugh, — it 
was so evident that he had been going to say 
“carriage.” “Thank you, with the greatest of 
pleasure. Indeed, it is rather a relief to me, for 
they generally keep me waiting. And I detest 
waiting.” 

He handed her into her seat, and lingered to see 
that she was comfortable, perhaps with unnecessary 
caution; and then, when she gave him her hand 


VAGABONDIA. 


57 


through the window, he held it for a moment longer 
than was exactly called for by the exigencies of the 
occasion. 

“ You will not forget that you have given me per- 
mission to call,” he said, hesitating slightly. 

“ Oh, dear no ! ” she answered. “ I shall not forget. 
We are always glad to see people — in Vagabondia.” 

And as the cab drove off, she waved the hand 
he had held in an airy gesture of adieu, gave him 
a bewildering farewell nod, and, withdrawing her 
face from the window, disappeared in the shadow 
within. 

“ Great Jove!” meditated Ralph Go wan, when he 
had seen the last of her. “ And this is a nursery gov- 
erness, — a sort of escape- valve for the spleen and ill 
moods of that woman in copper-color. She teaches 
them French and music, I dare say, and makes those 
spicy little jokes of hers over the dog-eared arithme- 
tic. Ah, well ! such is impartial Fortune.” And he 
strolled back into the house again, to make his adieus 
to Lady Augusta, with the bewitching Greuze face 
fresh in his memory. 

But, for her part, Dolly, having left him behind in 
the Philistine camp, was nestling comfortably in the 
dark corner of her cab, thinking of Griffith, as she al- 
ways did think of him when she found herself alone 
for a moment. 

“ I wonder if he will be at home when I get there,” 


58 


VAGABONDIA. 


she said. “ Poor fellow ! he would find it dull enough 
without me, unless they were all in unusually good 
spirits. I wonder if the time ever will come when 
we shall have a little house of our own, and can g<? 
out together or stay at home, just as we like.” 


CHAPTER III 


IN WHICH THE TRAIN IS LAID. 

FTER a holiday comes a rest day.” The astute- 



ness of this proverb continually proved itself 
in Yagabondia, and this was more particularly the 
case when the holiday had been Dolly’s, inasmuch 
as Dolly was invariably called upon to “ fight her 
battles o’er again,” and recount her experiences the 
day following a visit, for the delectation of the house- 
hold. Had there appeared in the camps a Philistine 
of notoriety, then that Philistine must play his or 
her part again through the medium of Dolly’s own 
inimitable powers of description or representation ; 
had any little scene occurred possessing a spice of 
flavoring, or illustrating any Philistine peculiarity, 
then Dolly was quite equal to the task of putting it 
upon the family stage, and re-enacting it with iniqui- 
tous seasonings and additions of her own. And yet 
the fun was never of an ill-natured sort. When 
Dolly gave them a correct embodiment of Lady 
Augusta in reception of her guests, with an accurate 
description of the “ great Copper-Boiler costume,” the 
bursts of applause meant nothing more than that 


60 


VAGABONDIA. 


Dolly’s imitative gifts were in good condition, and 
that the “ great Copper-Boiler costume ” was a suc- 
cess. Then, the feminine mind being keenly alive 
to an interest in earthly vanities, an enlargement on 
Philistine adornments was considered necessary, and 
Dolly always rendered herself popular by a minute 
description of the reigning fashions, as displayed by 
the Bilberry element. She found herself quite re- 
paid for the trouble of going into detail, by the 
unsophisticated pleasure in Mollie’s eyes alone, for to 
Mollie outward furnishings seemed more than worthy 
of description and discussion. 

Accordingly, the morning after Lady Augusta’s 
conversazione, Dolly gave herself up to the task of 
enlivening the household. It was Saturday morn- 
ing, fortunately, and on Saturday her visits to the 
Bilberry mansion were dispensed with, so she was 
quite at liberty to seat herself by the fire, with Tod 
in her arms, and recount the events of the evening. 
Somehow or other, she had almost regarded him as a 
special charge from the first. She had always been 
a favorite with him, as she was a favorite with most 
children. She was just as natural and thoroughly at 
home with Tod in her arms, or clambering over her 
feet, or clutching at the trimmings of her dress, as 
she was under any other circumstances ; and when 
on this occasion Griffith came in at noon to hear the 
news, and found her kneeling upon the carpet with 


VAGABONDIA. 


61 


outstretched hands teaching the pretty little tottering 
fellow to walk, he felt her simply irresistible. 

“ Come to Aunt Dolly,” she was saying. “ Tod, 
come to Aunt Dolly.” And then she looked up 
laughing. “ Look at him, Griffith,” she said. “ He 
has walked all the way from that arm-chair. ,, And 
then she made a rush at the child, and caught him 
in her arms with a little whirl, and jumped up with 
such a light-hearted enjoyment of the whole affair 
that it was positively exciting to look at her. 

It was quite natural — indeed, it would have been 
quite unnatural if she had not found her usual abid- 
ing-place in her lover's encircling arm at once, even 
with Tod conveniently established on one of her 
own, and evidently regarding his own proximity 
upon such an occasion as remarkable if nothing else. 
That arm of Griffith's usually did slip around her 
waist even at the most ordinary times, and long use 
had so accustomed Dolly to the habit that she would 
have experienced some slight feeling of astonishment 
if the familiarity had been omitted. 

It was rather a surprise to the young man to find 
that Miss MacDowlas had appeared upon the scene, 
and that she had partaken of coffee and conversation 
in the flesh the evening before. 

“ But it 's just like her,” he said. “ She is the sort 
of relative who always does turn up unexpectedly, 
Dolly. How does she look ?” 


62 


VAGABONDIA. 


Juvenescent,” said Dolly; “ depressingly so to 
persons who rely upon her for the realizing of expec- 
tations. A very few minutes satisfied me that I 
should never become Mrs. Griffith Donne upon her 
money. It is a very fortunate thing for us that we 
are of Yagabondian antecedents, Griffith, — just see 
how we might trouble ourselves, and wear our 
patience out over Miss MacDowlas, if we troubled 
ourselves about anything. This being utterly free 
from the care of worldly possessions makes one 
touchingly disinterested. Since we have nothing to 
expect, we are perfectly willing to wait until we 
get it.” 

She had thought so little about Kalph Go wan, — 
once losing sight of him, as he stood watching her 
on the pavement, that in discussing other subjects 
she had forgotten to mention him, and it was only 
Mollie’s entrance into the room that brought him 
upon the carpet. 

Coming in, with her hair bunched up in a lovely, 
disorderly knot, and the dimple on her left cheek 
artistically accentuated by a small patch of black, 
the youngest Miss Crewe yet appeared to advantage, 
when, after appropriating Tod, she slipped down into 
a sitting posture with him on the carpet, in the midst 
of the amplitude of folds of Lady Augusta's once 
gorgeous wrapper. 

“ Have you told him about the great Copper-Boiler 


V A GABONDIA . 


63 


costume, Dolly ? ” she said, bending down so that one 
brown tress hung swaying before Tod’s eyes. “ Has 
she, Griffith ? ” 

“Yes,” answered Griffith, looking at her with a 
vague sense of admiration. He shared all Dolly’s 
enthusiasm on the subject of Mollie’s prettiness. 

“ Was n’t it good ? I wish I was as cool as Dolly 
is. And poor Phemie — and the gentleman who 
made love to you all the evening, Dolly. What was 
his name ? Was n’t it Go wan ? ” 

Griffith’s eyes turned toward Dolly that instant. 

“Gowan!” he exclaimed. “You didn’t say any- 
thing about him. You didn’t even say he was 
there.” 

“ Did n’t she ? ” said Mollie, looking up with inno- 
cently wide-open eyes. “ Why, he made love to her 
all — ” 

“ I wish you would n’t talk such rubbish, Mollie,” 
Dolly interrupted her — a trifle sharply because she 
understood the cloud on her lover’s face so well. 
“ Who said Mr. Gowan made love to me ? Not I, 
you may be sure. I told you he talked to me, and 
that was all.” 

“You did not tell me that much,” said Griffith, 
dryly. 

It would scarcely have been human nature for 
Dolly not to have fired a little then, in spite of her- 
self. She was constitutionally good-natured, but she 


64 


VAGABONDIA. 


was not seraphic, and her lover’s rather excusable 
jealousy was specially hard to bear, when, as upon 
this occasion, it had no real foundation. 

“ I did not think it necessary,” she said ; <c and, 
besides, I forgot ; but if you wish to know the par- 
ticulars,” with a stiff little air of dignity, “ I can give 
them you. Mr. Gowan was there, and found the 
evening stupid, as every one else did. There was no 
one else to talk to, so he talked to me, and when I 
came home he put me into the cab. And, the fact 
is, he is a good-natured Philistine enough. That is 
all, I believe, unless you would like me to try to 
record all he said.” 

“ No, thank you,” answered Griffith, and instantly 
began to torture himself with imagining what he 
really had said, making the very natural mistake of 
imagining what he would have said himself, and then 
giving Ralph Gowan credit for having perpetrated 
like tender gallantries. He never could divest himself 
of the idea that every living man found Dolly as 
entrancing as he found her himself. It could only 
be one man’s bitter-sweet portion to be as desperately 
and inconsolably in love with her as he was himself, 
and no other than himself, or a man who might be 
his exact prototype, could have cherished a love at 
once so strong and so weak. There had been other 
men who had loved Dolly Crewe, — adored her for 
a while, in fact, and imagined themselves wretches 


VAGABONDIA. 


65 


because they had been unsuccessful; but they had 
generally outlived their despair, and their adoration, 
cooling for want of sustenance, had usually settled 
down into a comfortable admiring liking for the 
cause of their misery, but it would never have been 
so with Griffith. This ordinary, hard-working, ill- 
paid young man had passionate impulse and hidden 
power of suffering enough in his restive nature to 
make a broken hope a broken life to him. His long- 
cherished love for the shabbily attired, often-snubbed, 
dauntless young person yclept Dorothea Crewe was 
the mainspring of his existence. He would have 
done daring deeds of valor for her sake, if circum- 
stances had called upon him to comfort himself in 
such tragic manner ; had he been a knight of olden 
time, he would just have been the chivalrous, hot- 
headed, but affectionate young man to have entered 
the lists in his love’s behalf, and tilted against tre- 
mendous odds, and died unvanquished ; but living in 
the nineteenth century, his impetuosity, being neces- 
sarily restrained, became concentrated upon one point, 
and chafed him terribly at times. Without Dolly, 
he would have been without an object in life ; with 
Dolly, he was willing to face any amount of dis- 
couragement and misfortune ; and at this stage of his 
affection — after years of belief in that far-off blissful 
future — to lose her would have brought him wreck 
and ruin. 


66 


VAGABONDIA. 


So when Dolly, in the full consciousness of present 
freedom from iniquity, withdrew herself from his 
encircling arm and turned her attention to Tod and 
Mollie, he was far more wretched than he had any 
right to be, and stood watching them, and gnawing 
his slender mustache, gloomy and distrustful. 

But this could not last long, of course. They 
might quarrel, but they always made friends ; and 
when in a short time Mollie, doubtless feeling herself 
a trifle in the way, left the room with the child, 
Dolly's impulsive warm-heartedness got the better of 
her upon this occasion as upon all others. 

She came back to her lover's side and laid her 
hand on his arm. 

“ Don't let us quarrel about Ralph Go wan, Grif- 
fith,” she said. " It was my fault ; I ought to have 
told you.” 

He fairly crushed her in his remorseful embrace 
almost before she had finished her appeal. His dis- 
trust of her was as easily overcome as it was roused ; 
one touch of her hand, one suspicion of a tremor in 
her voice, always conquered him and reduced him to 
penitent submission. 

“ You are an angel,” he said, “ and I am an unfeeling 
clod. No other woman would bear with me as you 
do. God bless you, Dolly.” 

She nestled within his arms and took his caresses 
almost gratefully. Perhaps it would have been wiser 


V A GA BONDI A . 


67 


to have shown him how deep a sting his want of 
faith gave her sometimes, but she was always so glad 
when their misunderstandings were at an end, that 
she would not have so revenged herself upon him for 
the world. The cool, audacious self she exhibited in 
the camps of the Philistines was never shown to 
Griffith; in her intercourse with him she was only 
a slightly intensified edition of the child he had fallen 
in love with years before, — a bright, quick-witted 
child, with a deep nature and an immense faculty 
for loving and clinging to people. Dolly at twenty- 
two was pretty much what she had been at fifteen, 
when they had quarrelled and made up again, loved 
each other and romanced over the future brilliancy of 
prospect which now seemed just as far off as ever. 

In five minutes after the clearing away of the tem- 
porary cloud, they were in a seventh heaven of bliss* 
as usual. In some of his wanderings about town, 
Griffith had met with a modest house, which would 
have been the very thing for them if they had pos- 
sessed about double the income of which they were 
at present in receipt. He often met with houses of 
this kind ; they seemed, in fact, to present themselves 
to his longing vision every week of his life ; and I 
think it rather to his credit to mention that he never 
failed to describe them to Dolly, and enlarge upon 
their merits with much eloquence. Furniture ware- 
houses also were a source of some simple pleasure to 


68 


VAGABONDIA. 


them. If they possessed the income (not that they 
had the remotest prospect of possessing it), and 
rented the house, naturally they would require furni- 
ture, and it was encouraging to know that the neces- 
sary articles might be bought if the money was 
forthcoming. Consequently a low-priced table or a 
cheap sofa was a consolation, if not a source of re- 
joicing, and their happiest hours were spent in 
counting the cost of parlor carpets never to be pur- 
chased, and window curtains of thin air. They even 
economized sternly in minor matters, and debated the 
expenditure of an extra shilling as closely as if it 
had been a matter entailing the deepest anxiety; 
and on the whole, perhaps, practical persons might 
have condemned their affectionate, hopeful weakness 
as childish and nonsensical, but they were happy in 
the indulgence of it, at all events, and surely they 
might have been engaged in a less tender and more 
worldly pastime. There were other people, perhaps, 
weak and imprudent themselves it may be, who 
would have seen a touch of simple pathos in this 
unconsciously shown faith in Fortune and her not too 
kindly moods. 

“ Old Flynn ought to raise my salary, you know, 
Dolly,” said Griffith. “ I work hard enough for him, 
confound him ! ” somewhat irrelevantly, but with lau- 
dable and not unamiable vigor. He meant no harm to 
“ Old Flynn he would have done a good-natured thing 


VA GABONDIA . 


69 


for him at any moment, the mild expletive was simply 
the result of adopted custom. “ There is n’t a fellow 
in the place who does as much as I do. I worked from 
seven in the morning till midnight every day last 
week, and I wrote half his editorials for him, and no- 
body knows he does n’t get them up himself. If he 
would only give me two hundred instead of one, just 
see how we could live.” 

“We could live on a hundred and fifty,” put in 
Dolly, with an air of practical speculation which did 
her credit, “ if we were economical.” 

“ Well, say a hundred and fifty, then,” returned Grif- 
fith, quite as seriously, “ for we should be economical. 
Say a hundred and fifty. It would be nothing to 
him, — confound him ! — but it would be everything 
in the world to us. That house in the suburbs was 
only thirty pounds, taxes and all, and it was just the 
very thing we should want if we were married.” 

“How many rooms ?” asked Dolly. 

“ Six, and kitchen and cupboards and all that sort 
of contrivances. I asked particularly — went to see 
the landlord to inquire and see what repairing he would 
do if we wanted the place. There is a garden of a few 
yards in the front, too, and one or two rose-bushes. 
I don’t know whether they ever bloom, but it* they 
do, you could wear them in your hair. I thought of 
that the minute I saw them. The first time I saw you, 
Dolly, you had a rose in your hair, and I remember 


70 


VAGABOND1A. 


thinking I had never seen a flower worn in the same 
way. Other girls do n't wear things as you wear them 
somehow or other.” 

Dolly acknowledged the compliment with a laugh 
and a coaxing, patronizing little squeeze of his arm. 

“ You think they don’t,” she said, “you affectionate 
old fellow, that is it. Well, and what did the land- 
lord say ? Would he beautify ? ” 

“Well, yes, I think he would if the matter was 
pressed,” said Griffith, returning to the subject with a 
vigor of enjoyment inspiriting to behold. “ And, by 
the way, Dolly, I saw a small sofa at a place in town 
which was just the right size to fit into a sort of alcove 
there is in the front parlor.” 

“ Did you inquire the price ? ” said Dolly. 

“ Well — no,” cheerfully ; “ but I can, if you would 
like to know it. You see, I had n’t any money, and 
did n’t know when I should have any, and I felt rather 
discouraged at the time, and I had an idea the price 
would make me feel worse, so I did not go in. But 
it was a comfortable, plump little affair, covered with 
green, — the sort of thing I should like to have in our 
house, when we have one. It would be so comfort- 
able to throw one’s self down on to after a hard day’s 
work, particularly if one had a headache.” 

“ Yes,” said Dolly ; and then, half unconsciously and 
quite in spite of herself, the ghost of a sigh escaped 
her. She could not help wishing things were a trifle 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


71 


more real sometimes, bright and whimsically unworldly 
as she was. 

“ What did that mean ? ” Griffith asked her. 

She wakened up, as it were, and looked as happy 
as ever in an instant, creeping a trifle closer to him in 
her loving anxiety to blind him to the presence of the 
little pain in her heart. 

"Nothing,” she said, briskly. And then — “We 
don’t want much, do we, Griffith ? ” 

“ No,” said Griffith, a certain grim sense of humor 
getting the better of him. " And we have n’t got it.” 

She laughed outright at the joke quite enjoyably. 
Even the grimmest of jocosities wins its measure of 
respect in Yagabondia, and besides, her laugh removed 
the impression her sigh might have created. She was 
herself again at once. 

“ Never mind,” she said. (It was always “ never 
mind.”) “ Never mind, it will all come right in the 
end. Humble merit must be rewarded, and if humble 
merit isn’t, we can only console ourselves with the 
reasonable reflection that there must be something 
radically wrong with the state of society. Who knows 
whether you may not ‘get into something,’ as Phil 
says, which may be twenty times better than anything 
Old Flynn can give you!” with characteristic Vaga- 
bondian hopefulness. 

Just at this juncture Phil himself entered, or, 
rather, half entered, for he only put his head — a 


72 


VAGABONDIA. 


comely, curled head surmounted by a disreputable 
velvet cap — half into the room. 

“ Oh, you are here, are you ? ” he said. “ You are 
the fellow I want. I am just touching up something 
I want to show you. Come into the studio for a min- 
ute or so, Grif.” 

“It is that picture Mollie sat for,” he explained, 
as they followed him into the big, barren room, 
dignified by the name of studio. “I have just 
finished it.” 

Mollie was standing before the picture herself when 
they went in to look at it, but she did not turn round 
on hearing them. She had Tod in her arms yet, but 
she seemed to have forgotten his very existence in her 
preoccupation. And it was scarcely to be wondered 
at. The picture was only a head, — Mollie’ s own 
fresh, drowsy-eyed face standing out in contrast under 
some folds of dark drapery thrown over the brown 
hair like a monk’s cowl, two or three autumn-tinted 
oak leaves clinging to a straying tress, — but it was 
effective and novel enough to be a trifle startling. 
And Mollie was looking at it with a growing shadow 
of pleasure in her expression. She was slowly awak- 
ening to a sense of its beauty, and she was by no 
means dissatisfied. 

“It is lovely!” Dolly cried out, enthusiastically. 

“ So it is,” said Griffith. “ And as like her as art 
can make it. It’s a success, Phil.” 


VA GABONDIA . 


73 


Phil stepped back with a critical air to give it a 
new inspection. 

“Yes, it is a success,” he said. “Just give me a 
chance to get it hung well, and it will draw a crowd 
next season. You shall have a new dress if it does, 
Mollie, and you shall choose it yourself.” 

Mollie roused herself for a moment, and lighted 
up. 

“ Shall I ?” she said ; and then all at once she blushed 
in a way that made Dolly stare at her in some wonder. 
It seemed queer to think that Mollie — careless child 
Mollie — was woman enough to blush over anything. 

And then Aimee and ’Toinette came in, and looked 
on and admired just as openly and heartily as the rest, 
only Aimee was rather the more reticent of the two, 
and cast furtive glances at Mollie now and then. But 
Mollie was in a new mood, and had very little to say ; 
and half an hour after, when her elder sister went 
into the family sitting-room, she found her curled up 
in an easy-chair by the fire, looking reflective. Dolly 
went to the hearth and stood near her. 

“ What are you thinking about ? ” she asked. 

Mollie stirred uneasily, and half blushed again. 

“ I don’t know,” she answered. 

“ Yes, you do,” contradicted Dolly, good-naturedly. 
“ Are you thinking that it is a pleasant sort of a thing 
to be handsome enough to be made a picture of, 
Mollie ? ” 


74 


VAGABONDIA. 


The brown eyes met hers with an innocent sort of dep* 
recating consciousness. “ I — I never thought about 
myself in that way before,” admitted Mollie, naively. 

“ Why,” returned Dolly, quite sincerely, “ you must 
have looked in the glass.” 

“ Ye-es,” with a slow shake of the head ; “ but it 
did n’t look the same way in the glass, — it did n’t 
look as nice.” 

Dolly regarded her with a surprise which was not 
unmingled with affectionate pity. She was not as 
unsophisticated as Mollie, and never had been. As 
the feminine head of the family, she had acquired a 
certain shrewdness early in life, and had taken a 
place in the household the rest were hardly equal to. 
There had been no such awakening as this for her. 
At fourteen, she had been fully and complacently 
conscious of the exact status of her charms and abili- 
ties, physical and mental. She had neither under- 
nor over-rated them. She had smiled back at her 
reflection in her mirror, showing two rows of little 
milk-white teeth, and being well enough satisfied with 
being a charming young person with a secure com- 
plexion and enviable self-poise. She understood 
herself, and attained perfection in the art of under- 
standing others. Her rather sharp experience had 
not allowed her to look in the glass in guileless igno- 
rance of what she saw there, and perhaps this made 
her all the fonder of Mollie. 


VAGABONDIA. 


75 


“ What kind of a dress are you going to choose if 
Phil buys you one ? ” she asked. 

“ Maroon/’ answered Mollie. “ Oh ! ” with a little 
shuddering breath of desperate delight, “ how I wish 
I could have a maroon silk ! ” 

Dolly shook her head doubtfully. 

“It wouldn’t be serviceable, because you could 
only have the one, and you could n’t wear it on wet 
days,” she said. 

“ I should n’t care about its being serviceable,” burst 
forth innocent Vagabondia, rebelling against the 
trammels of prudence. “ I want something pretty. 
I do so detest serviceable things. I would stay in 
the house all the wet days if I might have a maroon 
silk to wear when it was fine.” 

“She is beginning to long for purple and fine 
linen,” sighed Dolly, as she ran up to her bedroom 
afterward. “ The saints forefend ! It is a bad sign. 
She will fall in love the next thing. Poor, indiscreet 
little damsel ! ” 

But, despite her sage lamentations, there was even 
at that moment a plan maturing in her mind which 
was an inconsistent mixture of Yagabondia’s good- 
nature and whim. Mollie’s fancy for the maroon silk 
had struck her as being artistic, and there was not a 
Crewe among them who had not a weakness for the 
artistic in effect. Tod himself was imaginatively 
supposed to share it and exhibit preternatural intelli- 


76 


VAGABONDIA. 


gence upon the subject. In Dolly it amounted to a 
passion which she found it impossible to resist. By 
it she was prompted to divers small extravagances at 
times, and by it she was assisted in the arranging of 
all her personal adornments. It was impossible to 
slight the mental picture of Mollie with maroon dra- 
pery falling about her feet, with her cheeks tinted 
with excited color, and with that marvel of delight in 
her eyes. She could not help thinking about it. 

“ She would be simply incomparable, 1 ” she found 
herself soliloquizing. “ Just give her that dress, put 
a white flower in her hair and set her down in a ball- 
room, or in the dress circle of a theatre, and sh^ 
would set the whole place astir. Oh, she must have 
it.” 

It was very foolish and extravagant of course ; even 
the people who are weakly tolerant enough to rather 
lean toward Dorothea Crewe, will admit this. The 
money that would purchase the maroon garment 
would have purchased a dozen minor articles far more 
necessary to the dilapidated household; but while 
straining at such domestic gnats as these articles 
were, she was quite willing and even a trifle anxious 
to swallow Mollie’s gorgeous camel. Such impulsive 
inconsistency was characteristic, however, and she 
betook herself to her bedroom with the intention of 
working out the problem of accommodating supply to 
demand. 


VAGABONDIA. 


77 


She took out her purse and emptied its contents on 
to her dressing-table. Two or three crushed bills, a 
scrap or so of poetry presented by Griffith upon vari- 
ous tender occasions, and a discouragingly small bank- 
note, the sole remains of her last quarter’s salary 
The supply was not equal to the demand, it was evi- 
dent. But she was by no means overpowered. She 
was dashed, but not despairing. Of course, she had 
not expected to launch into such a reckless piece of 
expenditure all at once, she had only thought she 
might attain her modest ambition in the due course 
of time, and she thought so yet. She crammed bills 
and bank-note back into the purse with serene cheer- 
fulness and shut it with a little snap of the clasp. 

“ I will begin to save up,” she said, “ and I will 
persuade Phil to help me. We can surely do it be- 
tween us, and then we will take her somewhere and 
let her have her first experience of modern society. 
What a sensation she would create in the camps of 
the Philistines ! ” 

She descended into the kitchen after this, appearing 
in those lower regions in the full glory of apron and 
rolled-up sleeves, greatly to the delight of the youth- 
ful maid-of-all-work, who, being feeble of intellect 
and fond of society, regarded the prospect of spend- 
ing the afternoon with her as a source of absolute 
rejoicing. The “ Sepoy,” as she was familiarly desig- 
nated by the family, was strongly attached to Dolly, 


78 


VAGABONDIA. 


as, indeed, she was to every other member of the 
household. The truth was, that the usefulness of 
the Sepoy (whose baptismal name was Belinda) was 
rather an agreeable fiction than a well-established 
fact. She had been adopted as a matter of charity, 
and it was charity rather than any recognized bril- 
liance of parts which caused her to be retained. 
Phil had picked her up on the streets one night in 
time gone by, and had brought her home principally 
because her rags were soaked and she had asserted 
that she had nowhere to go for shelter, and partly, 
it must be confessed, because she was a curiosity. 
Having taken her in, nobody was stern enough 
to turn her out to face her fate again, and so she 
stayed. Nobody taught her anything in particular 
about household economy, because nobody knew any- 
thing particular to teach her. It was understood 
that she was to do what she could, and that what she 
could not do should be shared among them. She 
could fetch and carry, execute small commissions, 
manage the drudgery and answer the door-bell, when 
she was presentable, which was not often; indeed, 
this last duty had ceased to devolve upon her, after 
she had once confronted Lady Augusta with personal 
adornments so remarkable as to strike that august 
lady dumb and rigid with indignation upon the 
threshold, and cause her, when she recovered herself, 
to stonily, but irately demand an explanation of the 


VAGABONDIA . 


79 


gratuitous insult she considered had been offered her. 
Belinda’s place was in the kitchen, after this, and to 
these regions she usually confined herself, happily 
vigorous in the discharge of her daily duties. She 
was very fond of Dolly, and hailed the approach of 
her days of freedom with secret demonstrations of 
joy. She hoarded the simple presents of finery given 
her by that young person with care, and regarded 
them in the light of sacred talismans. A subtle 
something in her dwarfed, feeble, starved-out nature 
was stirred, it may be, by the sight of the girl’s life 
and brightness ; and, apart from this, it would not have 
been like Dolly Crewe if she had not sympathized, half 
unconsciously, half because she was constitutionally 
sympathetic, with even this poor stray. If she had 
been of a more practical turn of mind, in all proba- 
bility she would have taken Belinda in hand and 
attacked the work of training her with laudable per- 
sistence ; but, as it was, private misgivings as to the 
strength of her own domestic accomplishments caused 
her to confine herself to more modest achievements. 
She could encourage her, at least, and encourage her 
she did with divers good-natured speeches and a 
leniency of demeanor which took the admiring Sepoy 
by storm. 

Saturday became a white day in the eyes of Be- 
linda, because, being a holiday, it left Dolly at liberty 
to descend into the kitchen and apply herself to the 


80 


VAGABOND1A. 


study of cookery as a science, with much agreeable 
bustle and a pleasant display of high spirit and en- 
joyment of the novelty of her position. She had her 
own innocent reasons for wishing to become a pro- 
ficient in the art, and if her efforts were not always 
crowned with success, the appearance of her handi- 
work upon the table on the occasion of the Sunday's 
dinner never disturbed the family equilibrium, prin- 
cipally, perhaps, because the family digestion was 
unimpaired. They might be jocose, they had been 
ironical, but they were never severe, and they always 
addressed themselves to the occasionally arduous task 
of disposing of the viands with an indifference to 
consequences which nothing could disturb. 

“ One cannot possibly be married without knowing 
something of cookery," Dolly had announced oracu- 
larly ; “ and one cannot gain a knowledge of it with- 
out practising, so I am going to practise. None of 
you are dyspeptic, thank goodness, so you can stand 
it. The only risk we run is that Tod might get 
hold of a piece of the pastry and be cut off in the 
bloom of his youth ; but we must keep a strict watch 
upon him." 

And she purchased a cookery book and commenced 
operations, and held to her resolve with Spartan firm- 
ness, encouraged by private but enthusiastic bursts of 
commendation from Griffith, who, finding her out, 
read the tender meaning of the fanciful seeming 


VAGABONDIA. 


81 


whim, and was so touched thereby that the mere 
sight of her in her nonsensical little affectation 
of working paraphernalia raised him to a seventh 
heaven of bliss. 

When she made her entrance into the kitchen on 
this occasion, and began to bustle about in search 
for her apron, Belinda, who was on her knees polish- 
ing the grate, amidst a formidable display of rags 
and brushes, paused to take breath and look at her 
admiringly. 

“ Are yer goin’ to make yer pies ’n things, Miss 
Dolly ? ” she asked. “ Which, if ye are, yer apern ’s 
in the left ’and dror.” 

“ So it is,” said Dolly. “ Thank you. Now where 
is the cookery book ? ” 

“ Left ’and dror agin,” announced Belinda, with a 
faint grin. “ I alius puts it there.” 

Whereupon Dolly, making industrious search for 
it, found it, and applied herself to a deep study of it, 
resting her white elbows on the dresser, and looking 
as if she had been suddenly called upon to master its 
contents or be led to the stake. She could not help 
being intense and in earnest even over this every-day 
problem of pies and puddings. 

“ Fricassee ? ” she murmured. "Fricassee was a 
failure, so was mock-turtle soup ; it looked discour- 
aging, and the fat would swim about in a way that at- 
tracted attention. Croquettes were not so bad, though 
6 


82 


VAGABONDIA. 


they were a little stringy; but beef a la mode was 
positively unpleasant. Jugged hare did very well, but 
oyster pHtes were dubious. Yeal pie Griffith liked.” 

“ There ’s somebody a-ringin’ at the door-bell, 1 ” said 
Belinda, breaking in upon her. “He’s rung twict, 
which I can go, mum, if I ain’t got no smuts.” 

Dolly looked up from her book. 

“ Some one is going now, I think,” she said. “ I 
hope it is n’t a visitor,” listening attentively. 

But it was a visitor, unfortunately. In a few min- 
utes Mollie came in, studiously perusing a card she 
held in her hand. 

“ Ralph,” she proclaimed, coming forward slowly. 
“Ralph Gowan. It’s Lady Augusta’s gentleman, 
Dolly, and he wants to see you.” 

Dolly took the card and looked at it, giving her 
shoulders a tiny shrug of surprise. 

“He has not waited long,” she said; “and it is 
rather inconvenient, but it can’t be helped. I sup- 
pose I shall have to run up-stairs and present him to 
Phil.” 

She untied her apron, drew down her sleeves, set- 
tled the bit of ribbon at her throat, and in three min- 
utes opened the parlor door and greeted her visitor, 
looking quite as much in the right place as she had 
done the night before in the white merino. 

“I am very glad to see you,” she said, shaking 
hands with him, “ and I am sure Phil will be, too. 


VAGABONDIA. 


83 


He is always glad to see people, and just now you 
will be doubly welcome, because be has a new picture 
to talk about. Will you come into the studio, or 
shall I bring him here ? I think it had better be the 
studio at once, because you will be sure to drift there 
in the end, — visitors always do,” 

“The studio let it be, if you please,” answered 
Go wan, wondering, just as he had done the night be- 
fore, at the indescribable something in her manner 
which was so novel because it was so utterly free 
from any suggestion of affectation. It would have 
been a difficult matter to tell her that he had not 
come for any other reason than to see herself again, 
and yet this really was the case. 

But his rather fanciful taste found Phil a novelty 
also when she led him into the studio, and presented 
him to that young man, who was lying upon a couch 
with a cigar in his mouth. 

Phil had something of the same cool friendliness of 
deportment, and, being used to the unexpected advent 
of guests at all hours, was quite ready to welcome 
him. He had the same faculty for making noticeable 
speeches, too, and was amiable, though languid and 
debonnaire, and by no means prone to ceremony. In 
ten minutes after he had entered the room Ralph 
Gowan understood, as by magic, that, little as the 
world was to these people, they had, in their Bohe- 
mian fashion, learned through sheer tact to compre- 


84 


VAGABONDIA. 


hend and tolerate its weaknesses. He examined the 
pictures on the walls and in the folios, and now and 
then found himself roused into something more than 
ordinary admiration. But he was disappointed in one 
thing. He failed in accomplishing the object of his 
visit. 

After she had seen that Phil and the paintings oc- 
cupied his attention to some extent, Dolly left them. 

“I was beginning to think about pies and pud- 
dings when you came,” she said, “ and I must go back 
to them. Saturday is the only day Lady Augusta 
leaves me, in which to improve in branches of domes- 
tic usefulness,” with an iniquitous imitation of her 
ladyship's manner. 

After which she went down to the kitchen again 
and plunged into culinary detail with renewed vigor, 
thinking of the six-roomed house in the suburbs, and 
the green sofa which was to fit into the alcove in the 
front parlor, growing quite happy over the mental 
picture, in blissful unconsciousness of the fact that a 
train had been that day laid, and that a spark would 
be applied that very night through the medium of a 
simple observation made by Phil to her lover. 

“ Gowan was here this morning, Grif, and Dolly 
brought him into the studio. He ’s not a bad sort of 
fellow for a Philistine, and he seems to know some- 
thing about pictures. I should n't be surprised if he 
came again.” 


CHAPTEE IV. 


A LILY OF THE FIELD. 


HIS was the significant and poetic appellation 



-L which at once attached itself to Ealph Go wan 
after his first visit to the studio in Bloomsbury Place, 
and, as might have been expected, it was a fancy of 
Dolly's, the affixing of significant titles being one of 
her fortes. 

“The lilies of the field," she observed, astutely, 
“ are a distinct class. They toil not, neither do they 
spin, and yet Solomon in all his glory was not ar- 
rayed like one of these. Yes, my young friends, Mr. 
Ealph Gowan is a lily of the field." 

And she was not far wrong. Twenty-seven years 
before Mr. Ealph Gowan had been presented to an 
extended circle of admiring friends as the sole heir to 
a fortune large enough to have satisfied the ambitions 
of half a dozen heirs of moderate aspirations, and 
from that time forward his lines had continually 
fallen in pleasant places. As a boy he had been 
handsome, attractive, and thoroughbred, and conse- 
quently popular ; his good looks made him a favorite 


86 


VA GABONDIA . 


with women, his good fortune with men ; his friends 
were rather proud of him, and his enemies were pow- 
erless against him ; he found it easy to be amiable 
because no obstacles to amiability lay in his path; 
and altogether he regarded existence as a comfortable 
enough affair. 

At school his fellows had liked him just as boys as 
well as men are apt to like fortunate people ; and as 
he had grown older he had always found himself a 
favorite, it may be for something of the same reason. 
But being, happily, a gentleman by nature, he had 
not been much spoiled by the general adulation. 
Having been born to it, he carried himself easily 
through it, scarcely recognizing the presence of what 
would have been patent to men less used to popu- 
larity. He was fond of travelling, and so had 
amused himself by comfortably arranging uncom- 
fortable journeys and exploring pleasantly those parts 
of the earth which to ordinary tourists would appear 
unattainable. 

He was not an ordinary young man, upon the 
whole, which was evinced by his making no attempt 
to write a book of travels, though he might safely 
have done so ; and really, upon the whole, “ lily of 
the field ” though chance had made him, he was 
neither useless nor purposeless, and rather deserved 
his good luck than otherwise. 

Perhaps it was because he was not an ordinary 


V A GABONDIA . 


87 


individual that his fancy was taken by the glimpse 
he had caught of life in Vagabondia. It was his first 
glimpse of the inner workings of such a life, and 
its novelty interested him. A girl of twenty-two who 
received attention and admiration in an enjoyable, 
matter-of-fact manner, as if she was used to and 
neither over- nor under- valued it, who could make 
coffee and conversation bearable and even exciting, 
who could hold her own against patronage and slights, 
and be as piquant and self-possessed at home as in 
society, who could be dazzling at night and charming 
in the morning, was novelty enough in herself to 
make Bloomsbury Place attractive, even at its din- 
giest, and there were other attractions aside from this 
one. 

Phil in the studio, taking life philosophically, and 
regarding the world and society in general with sub- 
lime and amiable tolerance, was as unique in his way 
as Dolly was in hers ; his handsome girl-wife, who 
had come in to them with her handsome child in her 
arms, was unique also ; Mollie herself, who had 
opened the door and quite startled him with the 
mere sight of her face, — well, Mollie had impressed 
him as she impressed everybody. And he was quite 
observant enough to see the element of matter-of- 
fact, half-jocular affection that bound them one to 
another ; he could not help seeing it, and it almost 
touched him. They were not a sentimental assembly, 


88 


VAGABONDIA. 


upon the whole, but they were fond of each other in 
a style peculiar to themselves, and ready to unite in 
any cause which was the cause of the common weal. 
The family habit of taking existence easily and regard- 
ing misfortunes from a serenely philosophical stand- 
point, amused Ealph Gowan intensely. It had 
spiced Dolly’s conversation, and it spiced Phil’s ; in- 
deed, it showed itself in more than words. They had 
banded themselves against unavoidable tribulation, 
and it could not fail to be beautifully patent to the 
far-seeing mind that, taking all things together, trib- 
ulation had the worst of it. 

They were an artistic study, Ealph Gowan found, 
and so, in his character of a “ lily of the field,” he 
fell into the habit of studying them, as an amuse- 
ment at first, afterwards because his liking for them 
became friendly and sincere. 

It was an easy matter to call again after the first 
visit, — people always did call again at Bloomsbury 
Place, and Ealph Gowan was no exception to the 
rule. He met Phil in the city, and sauntered home 
with him to discuss art and look at his work ; he in- 
vited him to first-class little dinners, and introduced 
him to one or two men worth knowing ; in short, it 
was not long before the two were fond of each 
other in undemonstrative man fashion. The studio 
was the sort of place Gowan liked to drop into 
when time hung heavily on his hands, and conse- 


VA GABON DIA . 


89 


quently hardly a week passed without his having at 
least once or twice dropped into it to sit among the 
half dozen of Phil’s fellow Bohemians, who were also 
fond of dropping in as the young man sat at his easel, 
sometimes furiously at work, sometimes tranquilly 
loitering over the finishing touches of a picture. 
They were good-natured, jovial fellows, too, these 
Bohemian visitors, though they were more frequently 
than not highly scented with the odor of inferior 
tobacco, and rarely made an ostentatious display in 
the matter of costume, or were conspicuously faultless 
in the matter of linen ; they failed to patronize the 
hairdresser, and were prone to various convivialities, 
but they were neither vicious nor vulgar, and they 
were singularly faithful to their friendships for each 
other. They were all fond of Phil, and accordingly 
fraternized at once with his new friend, adopting him 
into their circle with the ease of manner and freedom 
of sentiment which seemed the characteristic of their 
class ; and they took to him all the more kindly be- 
cause, amateur though he was, he shared many of 
their enthusiasms. 

Of course he did not always see Dolly when he 
went. During every other day of the week but Sat- 
urday she spent her time from nine in the morning 
until five in the afternoon in the rather depressing 
atmosphere of the Bilberry school-room. She vigor- 
ously assaulted the foundations of Lindley Murray, 


90 


V A GA B ONDIA . 


and attacked the rules of arithmetic; she taught 
Phemie French, and made despairing hut continu- 
ous efforts at “ finishing ” her in music. But poor 
Phemie was not easily “ finished, 1 ” and hung some- 
what heavily upon the hands of her youthful in- 
structress ; still, she was affectionate, if weak-minded, 
and so Dolly managed to retain her good spirits. 

“ I believe they are all fond of me in their way,” 
she said to Griffith, — “ all the children, I mean ; and 
that is something to be thankful for.” 

“ They couldn’t help being fond of you,” returned 
the young man. “ Did any human being ever know 
you without being fond of you ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Dolly ; “ Lady Augusta knows me ; and 
I do not think — no,” with a cheerfully resigned 
shake of the head, which did not exactly express 
deep regret or contrition, “ I really do not think Lady 
Augusta is what you might call overwhelmed with 
the strength of her attachment for me.” 

“Oh, Lady Augusta!” said Griffith. “Confound 
Lady Augusta ! ” 

Griffith was one of the very few people who did 
not like Ealph Gowan, and perhaps charitably in- 
clined persons will be half inclined to excuse his 
weakness. It was rather trying, it must be admitted, 
for a desponding young man rather under stress of 
weather, so to speak, to find himself thrown into 
sharp contrast with an individual who had sailed in 


V A GA BONDI A . 


91 


smooth waters all his life, and to whom a ripple 
would have been a by no means unpleasant excite- 
ment ; it was rather chafing to constantly encounter 
this favorite of fortune in the best of humors, because 
he had nothing to irritate him; thoroughbred, un- 
ruffled, and dtlonnaire because he had nothing of 
pain or privation to face; handsome, well dressed, 
and at ease, because his income and his tastes bal- 
anced against each other accommodatingly. Human 
nature rose up and battled in the Yagabondian breast; 
there were times when, for the privilege of adminis- 
tering severe corporeal chastisement to Ealph Gowan, 
Griffith would have sacrificed his modest salary with 
a Christian fortitude and resignation beautiful to 
behold. To see him sitting in one of the faded 
padded chairs, roused all his ire, and his conscious- 
ness of his own weakness made the matter worse ; to 
see him talking to Dolly, and see her making brisk 
little jokes for his amusement, was worse still, and 
drove him so frantic that more than once he had 
turned quite pale in his secret frenzy of despair and 
jealousy, and had quite frightened the girl, though 
he v/as wise enough to keep his secret to himself. It 
was plain enough that Gowan admired Dolly, but 
other men had admired her before ; the sting of it 
Was that this fellow, with his cool airs and graces 
and tantalizing repose of manner, had no need to 
hold back if he could win her. There would be no 


92 


VAGABONDIA. 


need for him to plan and pinch and despair; no 
need for faltering over odd shillings and calculating 
odd pence ; he could marry her in an hour if she cared 
for him, and he could surround her with luxuries, 
and dress her like a queen, and make her happy, as 
she deserved to be. And then the poor fellow’s heart 
would beat fiercely, and the very blood would tremble 
in his veins, at the mere thought of giving her up. 

One night after they had been sitting together, 
and Go wan had just left the room with Phil, Dolly 
glanced up from her work and saw her lover looking 
at her with a face so pale and wretched that she was 
thrown into a passion of fear. 

She tossed her work away in a second, and, making 
one of her little rushes at him, was caught in his 
arms and half suffocated. She knew the instant she 
caught sight of his face what he was suffering, though 
perhaps she did not know the worst. 

“ Oh, why will you ? ” she cried out, in tears, all 
at once. " It is cruel ! You are as pale as death, 
and I know — I know so well what it means.” 

ie Tell me you will never forget what we have 
been to each other,” he said, when he could speak ; 
"tell me you don’t care for that fellow, — tell me 
you love me, Dolly, tell me you love me.” 

She did not hesitate a moment; she had never 
flirted with Griffith in her life, and she knew him too 
well to try him when he wore that desperate, fever- 


VAGABONDIA . 


93 


ish look of longing in his eyes. She burst into an 
impetuous sob, and clung to him with both hands. 

" I love you with all my soul,” she said. “I will 
never let you give me up ; and as to forgetting, I 
might die, but I could never forget. Care for Ealph 
Gowan ! I love you , Griffith, I love you ! ” 

“And you don’t regret?” he said, piteously. “Oh, 
Dolly, just think of what he could give you; and 
then think of our hopeless dreams about miserable 
six-roomed houses and cheap furniture.” 

“ You will make me hate him,” cried Dolly, her 
gust of love and pity making her fierce. “I don’t 
want anything anybody could give me. I only want 
you, dear old fellow , — darling old fellow,” holding 
him fast, as if she would never let him go, and shed- 
ding a shower of impassioned, tender tears. “ Oh, 
my darling, only wait until I am your own wife, and 
see how happy I will be, and how happy I will make 
you, — for I can make you happy, — and see how I will 
work in our little home for your sake, and how con- 
tent I will be with a little. Oh, what must I do to 
show you how I love you ! Do you think I could 
have cared for Ealph Gowan all these years as I have 
cared for you ? No indeed ; but I shall care for you 
forever, and I would wait for you a thousand years if 
I might only be your wife, and die in your arms at 
the end of it.” 

And she believed every word she said, too, and 


94 


V A GABONDIA. 


would have been willing to lay down her young life 
to prove it, extravagant as it may all sound to the 
discreet. And she quite believed, too, that she could 
never have so loved any other man than this unlucky, 
jealous, tempestuous one ; but I will take the liberty 
of saying that this was a mistake, for, being an impas- 
sioned, heart-ruled, unworldly young person, it is 
quite likely that if Ralph Gowan had stood in Mr. 
Griffith Donne’s not exactly water-tight shoes, she 
would have clung to him quite as faithfully, and 
believed in his perfections quite as implicitly, and 
quite as scornfully would have depreciated the merits 
of his rival ; but chance had arranged the matter for 
her years before, and so Mr. Griffith was the hero. 

“ Ralph Gowan ! ” she flung out. “ What is Ralph 
Gowan, or any other man on earth, to me ? Did I 
love him before I knew what love was, and scarcely 
understood my own heart ? Did I grow into a wo- 
man loving him and clinging to him and dreaming 
about him ? Have I ever had any troubles in com- 
mon with him ? Did we grow up together, and tell 
each other all our thoughts and help each other to 
bear things ? Let him travel in the East, if he likes,” 
— with high and rather inconsistent disdain, — “ and 
let him have ten thousand a year, if he will, — a hun- 
dred thousand millions a year wouldn’t buy me from 
you — my own ! ” In another burst, “ Let him ride in 
his carriage, if he chooses,” — rather, as if such a course 


V A G A B ONDIA . 


95 


would imply the most degraded weakness ; but, as I 
have said before, she was illogical, if affectionate, — 
“ let him ride in his carriage. I would rather walk 
barefoot through the world with you than ride in a 
hundred carriages, if every one of them was lined 
with diamonds and studded with pearls.” 

There was the true flavor of Vagabondia’s indiscre- 
tion and want of forethought in this, I grant you ; 
but such speeches as these were Dolly Crewe’s mode 
of comforting her lover in his dark moods ; at least, 
she was sincere, — and sincerity will excuse many 
touches of extravagance. And as to Griffith, every 
touch of loving, foolish rhapsody dropped upon his 
heart like dew from heaven, filling him with rapture 
and drawing him nearer to her than before. 

“But,” he objected, — a rather weak objection, 
offered rather weakly, because he was so full of re- 
newed confidence and bliss, — “ but he is a handsomer 
fellow than I am, Dolly, and it must be confessed 
he has good taste.” 

“ Handsomer ! ” echoed Dolly. “ What do I care 
about his beauty ? He is n’t you , — that is where he 
fails to come up to the mark. And as to his good 
taste, do you suppose for a second that I could ever 
admire the most imposing ' get-up ’ by Poole, as I 
love this threadbare coat of yours, that I have laid 
my cheek against for the last three years ? ” And she 
bent down all at once and kissed the shabby sleeve. 


96 


VAGABONDIA. 


“ No,” she said, looking up the next minute with 
her eyes as bright as stars. a We have been given 
to each other, that is it. It was n’t chance, it was 
something higher. We needed each other, and a 
higher power than Fate bound us together, and it 
was a power that is n’t cruel enough to separate us 
now, after all these years have woven our lives in 
one chord, and drawn our hearts close, and taught us 
how to comfort and bear with each other. I was 
given to you because I could help to make your life 
brighter, — and you were given to me because you 
could help to brighten mine, and God will never part 
us so long as we are true.” 

The coat sleeve came into requisition again then, 
as it often did. Her enthusiastic burst ended in a 
gush of heart-full tears, and she hid her face on the 
coat sleeve until they were shed ; Griffith in the 
mean time touching her partly bent head caressingly 
with his hand, but remaining silent because he could 
not trust himself to speak. 

But she became quieter at last, and got over it so 
far as to look up and smile. 

“ I could n’t give up the six-roomed house and the 
green sofa, Griffith,” she said. “ They are like a great 
many other things, — the more I don’t get them the 
more I want them. And the long winter evenings 
we are to spend together, when you are to read and 
I am to sew, and we are both to be blissfully happy. 


VAGABONDIA. 


97 


I could n’t give those up on any account. And how 
could I bear to see Ralph Gowan, or any one else, 
seated in the orthodox arm-chair?” 

The very idea of this latter calamity occurring 
crushed Griffith completely. The long winter even- 
ings they were to spend together were such a pleasant 
legend. Scarcely a day passed without his drawing 
a mental picture of the room which was to be their 
parlor, and of the fireside Dolly was to adorn. It 
required only a slight effort of imagination to picture 
her shining in the tiny room whose door closed upon 
an outside world of struggling and an inside world 
of love and hope and trust. He imagined Dolly 
under a variety of circumstances, but nothing pleased 
and touched him so tenderly as this fireside picture. 
— its ideal warmth and glow, and its poetic placing 
of Dolly as his wife sitting near to him with her 
smiles and winsome ways and looks — his own, at 
last, unshared by any outsiders. Giving that long- 
cherished fancy up would have killed him, if he could 
have borne all the rest. And while these two expe- 
rienced the recorded fluctuations of their romance in 
private, Ralph Gowan had followed Phil into the 
studio. 

They found Mollie there on going into the room ; 
and Mollie lying upon the sofa asleep, with her 
brown head upon a big soft purple cushion, was 
quite worthy a second glance. She had been rather 
7 


98 


V A GA BONDI A . 


overpowered in the parlor by the presence of Ralph 
Gowan, and, knowing there was a fire in the studio, 
and a couch drawn near it, she had retired there, and, 
appropriating a pile of cushions, had dropped asleep, 
and lay there curled up among them. 

Seeing her, Gowan found himself smiling faintly. 
Mollie amused him just as she amused Dolly. It 
was so difficult a matter to assign her any settled 
position in the world. She was taller than the other 
girls, and far larger and more statuesque; indeed, 
there were moments when she seemed to be almost 
imposing in presence, but this only rendered her still 
more a charming incongruity. She might have car- 
ried herself like a royal princess, but she blushed up 
to the tips of her ears at a glance, and was otherwise 
as innocently awkward as a beauty may be. She 
was not fond of strangers either, and generally lapsed 
into silence when spoken to. Public admiration 
only disconcerted her, and made her pout, and the 
unceremonious but friendly compliments of Phil's 
brethren in art were her special grievance. 

“ They stare at me, and stare at me, and stare at 
me,” she complained, pettishly, to Dolly, “ and some 
of them say things to me. I wish they would attend 
to their pictures and leave me alone.” 

But she had never evinced any particular dislike 
to Ralph Gowan. She was overpowered by a secret 
sense of his vast superiority to the generality of 


VAGABONDIA. 


99 


mankind, but she rather admired him upon the whole. 
She liked to hear him talk to Dolly, and she approved 
of his style. It was such a novel sort of thing to 
meet with a man who was not shabby, and whose 
clothes seemed made for him and were worn with a 
grace. He was handsome, too, and witty and po- 
lite, and his cool, comfortable manner reminded her 
vaguely of Dolly’s own. So she used to sit and 
listen to the two as they chatted, and in the end her 
guileless admiration of Dolly’s eligible Philistine be- 
came pretty thoroughly established. 

When the sound of advancing footsteps roused 
her from her nap she woke with great tranquillity, 
and sat up rubbing her drowsy eyes serenely for a 
minute or so before she discovered that Phil had 
a companion. But when she did discover that such 
was the fact she blushed all over, and looked up at 
Ealph Gowan in some naive distress. 

“I didn’t know any one was coming,” she said, 
“and I was so comfortable that I fell asleep. It 
was the cushions, I think.” 

“I dare say it was,” answered Gowan, regarding 
her sleep-flushed cheeks and exquisite eyes with the 
pleasure he always felt in any beauty, animate or 
inanimate. “May I sit here, Mollie?” and then he 
looked at her again and decided that he was quite 
right in speaking to her as he would have spoken to 
a child, because she was such a very child. 


100 


VAGABONDIA. 


“ By me, on the sofa ? ” she answered. “ Oh, yes.* 

“ Are you going to talk business with Phil ? ” she 
asked him next, “ or may I stay here ? Griffith and 
Dolly won't want me in the parlor, and I don't want 
to go into the kitchen.” 

"I have no doubt you may stay here,” he said, 
quite seriously ; “ but why won't they want you in 
the parlor ? ” 

“They never want anybody,” astutely. “I dare 
say they are making love, — they generally are.” 

“ Making love,” he repeated. “ Ah, indeed ! ” and 
for the next few minutes was so absorbed in thought 
that Mollie was quite forgotten. 

Making love were they, — this shabby, rather un- 
amiable young man and the elder Miss Crewe ? It 
sounded rather like nonsense to Ralph Gowan, but 
it was not a pleasant sort of thing to think about. 
It is not to be supposed that he himself was very 
desperately in love with Dolly just yet, but it must 
be admitted he admired her decidedly. Beauty as 
Mollie was, he scarcely gave her a glance when 
Dolly was in the room, — he recognized the beauty, 
but it did not enslave him, it did not even attract him 
as Dolly's imperfect charms did. And perhaps he 
had his own ideas of what Dolly's love-making would 
be, of the spice and variety which would form its 
characteristics, and of the little bursts of warmth and 
affection that would render it delightful. It was not 


V A GAB0ND1A . 


101 


soothing to think of all this being lavished on a 
shabby young man who was not always urbane in 
demeanor and who stubbornly objected to being pro- 
pitiated by politeness. 

As was very natural, Mr. Ralph Gowan did not 
admire Mr. Griffith Donne enthusiastically. In his 
visits to Bloomsbury Place, finding an ill-dressed 
young man whose position in the household he could 
not understand, he began by treating him with 
good-natured suavity, being ready enough to make 
friends with him, as he had made friends with the 
rest of Phil's compatriots. But influenced by objec- 
tions to certain things, Griffith was not to be treated 
suavely, but rather resented it. There was no good 
reason for his resenting it, but resent it he did, as 
openly as he could, without being an absolute savage 
and attracting attention. The weakness of such a 
line of conduct is glaringly patent, of course, to the 
well-regulated mind ; but then Mr. Griffith Donne’s 
mind was not well-regulated, and he was, on the con- 
trary, a very hot-headed, undisciplined young man, 
and exceedingly sensitive to his own misfortunes and 
shabbiness, and infatuated in his passion for the ob- 
ject of his enemy's admiration. But Ralph Gowan 
could afford to be tolerant ; in the matter of position 
he was secure, he had never been slighted or patron- 
ized in his life, and so had no shrinkings from such 
an ordeal ; he was not disturbed by any bitter pang 


102 


VAGABONDIA. 


of jealousy as yet, and so, while he could not under- 
stand Griffith's restless anxiety to resent his presence, 
could still tolerate it and keep cool. Yet, as might 
be expected, he rather underrated his antagonist. 
Seeing him only in this one unfavorable light, he re- 
garded him simply as a rather ill-bred, or, at least, 
aggressively inclined individual, whose temper and 
tone of mind might reasonably be objected to. Once 
or twice he had even felt his own blood rise at some 
implied ignoring of himself ; but he was far the more 
urbane and well-disposed of the two, yet whether he 
was to be highly lauded for his forbearance, or 
whether, while lauding him, it would not be as well 
to think as well as possible of his enemy, is a matter 
for charity to decide. 

It had not occurred to him before that Griffith's 
frequent and unceremonious visits implied anything 
very serious. There were so many free-and-easy 
visitors at the house, and they all so plainly culti- 
vated Dolly, if they did not make actual love to her ; 
and really outsiders would hardly have been im- 
pressed with her deportment toward her betrothed. 
She was not prone to exhibit her preference senti- 
mentally in public. So Ralph Gowan had been de- 
ceived, — and so he was deceived still. 

“ This sort of fellow," as he mentally put it with 
unconscious high-handedness, was not the man to 
make such a woman happy, however ready she was 


VAGABONDIA. 103 

to bear with him. It was just such men as he was„ 
who, when the novelty of possession wore off, dete- 
riorated into tyrannical, irritable husbands, and were 
not too well bred in their manners. So he became 
reflective and silent, when Mollie said that the two 
were “ making love.” 

But at last it occurred to him that even to Mollie 
his preoccupation might appear singular, and he 
roused himself accordingly. 

“ Making love ! ” he said again. “ Blissful occupa- 
tion ! I wonder how they do it. Do you know, 
Mollie ? ” 

Mollie looked at him with a freedom from scruples 
or embarrassment at the conversation taking such a 
turn, which told its own story. 

“ Yes,” she said. “ They talk, you know, and say 
things to each other just as other people do, and he 
kisses her sometimes. I know that,” with a decided 
air, “ because I have seen him do it.” 

“ Cool enough, that, upon my word,” was her ques- 
tioner’s mental comment, “ and not unpleasant for 
Donne; but hardly significant of a fastidious taste, if 
it is a public exhibition.” “ Ah, indeed ! ” he said, 
aloud. 

“They have been engaged so long, you know,” vol- 
unteered Mollie. 

“ Singularly enough, I did not know, Mollie,” he 
replied. “ Are you sure yourself ? ” 


104 


VAGABONDIA. 


“Oh, yes!” exclaimed Mollie, opening her eyes. 
'I thought everybody knew that. They have been 
engaged ever since they were ever so much younger. 
Dolly was only fifteen, and Griffith was only eigh- 
teen, when they first fell in love.” 

“And they have been engaged ever since?” said 
Gowan, his curiosity getting decidedly the better of 
him. 

“Yes, and would have been married long ago, if 
Griffith could have got into something ; or if Old 
Flynn would have raised his salary. He has only a 
hundred a year,” with unabashed frankness, “and, 
of course, they couldn’t be married on that, so 
they are obliged to wait. A hundred and fifty would 
do, Dolly says, — but then, they have n’t got a hun- 
dred and fifty.” 

Ralph Gowan was meanly conscious of not being 
overpowered with regret on hearing this latter state- 
ment of facts. And yet he was by no means devoid 
of generous impulse. He was quite honest, however 
deeply he might be mistaken, in deciding that it 
would be an unfortunate thing for Dolly if she mar- 
ried Griffith Donne. He thought he was right, and 
certainly if there had been no more good in his rival 
than he himself had seen on the surface, he would 
not have been far wrong ; but as it was he was un- 
consciously very far wrong indeed. He ran into the 
almost excusable extreme of condemning Griffith 


V A GABONDIA . 


105 


upon circumstantial evidence. Unfair advantage 
had been taken of Dolly, he told himself. She had 
engaged herself before she knew her own heart, and 
was true to her lover because it was not in her nature 
to be false. Besides, what right has a man with a 
hundred a year to bind any woman to the prospect of 
the life of narrow economies and privations such an 
income would necessarily entail ? And forthwith his 
admiration of Dolly became touched with pity, and 
increased fourfold. She was unselfish, at least, what- 
ever her affianced might be. Poor little soul ! (It is 
a circumstance worthy of note, because illustrative of 
the blindness of human nature, that at this very 
moment Miss Dorothea Crewe was enjoying her 
quiet tete-dj-tete with her lover wondrously, and would 
not have changed places with any young lady in the 
kingdom upon any consideration whatever.) 

It is not at all to be wondered at that, in the 
absence of other entertainment, Gowan drifted into a 
confidential chat with Mollie. She was the sort of 
girl few people could have remained entirely indiffer- 
ent to. Her naivete was as novel as her beauty, and 
her weakness, so to speak, was her strength. Gowan 
found it so at least, but still it must be confessed that 
Dolly was the chief subject of their conversation. 

“ You are very fond of your sister ? ” he said to the 
child. 

Mollie nodded. 


106 


VAGABONDIA. 


“ Yes,” she said, “ I am very fond of her. We are 
all very fond of her. Dolly ’s the clever one of the 
family, next to Phil. She is n’t afraid of anybody, 
and things don’t upset her. I wish I was like her. 
You ought to see her talk to Lady Augusta. I 
believe she is the only person in the world Lady 
Augusta can’t patronize, and she is always trying to 
snub her just because she is so cool. But it never 
troubles Dolly. I have seen her sit and smile and 
talk in her quiet way until Lady Augusta could do 
nothing but sit still and stare at her as if she was 
choked, with her bonnet strings actually trembling.” 

Gowan laughed. He could imagine the effect pro- 
duced so well, and it was so easy to picture Dolly 
smiling up in the face of her gaunt patroness, and all 
the time favoring her with a shower of beautiful little 
stabs, rendered pointed by the very essence of art- 
fulness. He decided that upon the whole Lady Au- 
gusta was somewhat to be pitied. 

“ Dolly says,” proceeded Mollie, “ that she would 
like to be a beauty ; but if I was like her I should n’t 
care about being a beauty.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Gowan, unable to resist the temptation 
to try with a fine speech, — “ah ! it is all very well for 
you to talk about not caring to be a beauty.” 

It did not occur to him for an instant that it was 
indiscreet to say such a thing to her. He only 
meant it for a jest, and nine girls out of ten even at 


VAGABONDIA. 


107 


sixteen would have understood his languid air of 
grandiloquence in an instant. But Mollie at sixteen 
was extremely liberal-minded, and almost Arcadian 
in her simplicity of thought and demeanor. 

Her brown eyes flew wide open, and for a minute 
she stared at him with mingled amazement and 
questioning. 

“ Me ! ” she said, ignoring all given rules of pro- 
priety of speech. 

“ Yes, you,” answered Gowan, smiling, and looking 
down at her amusedly. “ I have been paying you a 
compliment, Mollie.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Mollie, bewilderment settling on her 
face. But the next instant the blood rushed to her 
cheeks, and her eyes fell, and she moved a little 
farther away from him. 

It was the first compliment she had received in all 
her life, and it was the beginning of an era. 


CHAPTER V. 


IN WHICH THE PHILISTINES BE UPON US. 

are going,” said Dolly to Ralph Gowan, “ to 



have a family rejoicing, and we should like 


you to join us. We are going to celebrate Mollie’s 
birthday.” 

“ Thanks,” he answered, “ I shall be delighted.” 

He had heard of these family rejoicings before, 
and was really pleased with the idea of attending one 
of them. They were strictly Vagabondian, which 
was one recommendation, and they were entirely free 
from the Bilberry element, which was another. They 
were not grand affairs, it is true, and set etiquette 
and the rules of society at open defiance, but they 
were cheerful, at least, and nobody attended them 
who had not previously resolved upon enjoying him- 
self and taking kindly to even the most unexpected 
state of affairs. At Bloomsbury Place, Lady Au- 
gusta's “ coffee and conversation ” became “ conversa- 
tion and coffee,” and the conversation came as 
naturally as the coffee. People who had jokes to 
make made them, and people who had not were 
exhilarated by the lon-mots of the rest. 


VAGABONDIA. 


109 


“ Mollie will be seventeen,” said Dolly, “ and it i* 
rather a trial to me.” 

Go wan laughed. 

“ Why ? ” he asked. 

She shook her head gravely. 

“In the first place,” she answered, “it makes me feel 
as if the dust of ages was accumulating in my path- 
way, and in the second, it is not safe for her.” 

“ Why, again ? ” he demanded. 

“ She is far too pretty, and her knowledge of the 
world is far too limited. She secretly believes in 
Lord Burleigh, and clings to the poetic memory of 
King Cophetua and the Beggar-maid.” 

“ And you do not ? ” 

She held up her small forefinger and shook it at him. 

“ If ever there was an artful little minx,” she said, 
“ that Beggar-maid was one. I never believed in her. 
I doubted her before I was twelve. With her eyes 
cast down and her sly tricks ! She did not cast them 
down for nothing. She did it because she had long 
eyelashes, and it was becoming. And it is my im- 
pression she knew more about the king than she pro- 
fessed to. She had studied his character and found 
it weak. Beggar-maid me no beggar-maids ! She 
was as deep as she was handsome.” 

Of course he laughed again. Her air of severe 
worldly experience and that small warning forefinger 
were irresistible. 


110 


V A GABONDIA . 


“ But Mollie,” he said, “ with all her belief in Co- 
phetua, you think there is not enough of the beggar- 
maid element in her character to sustain her under 
like circumstances ? ” 

“ If she met a Cophetua,” she answered, “she would 
open her great eyes at his royal purple in positive 
delight, and if he caught her looking at him she 
would blush furiously and pout a little, and be so 
ashamed of her weakness that she would be ready to 
run away ; but if he was artful enough to manage her 
aright, she would believe every word he said, and ro- 
mance about him until her head was turned upside 
down. My fear is that some false Cophetua will 
masquerade for her benefit some day. She would 
never doubt his veracity, and if he asked her to run 
away with him I believe she would enjoy the idea. 
We shall have to keep sharp watch upon her.” 

“ You never were so troubled about Aimee ? ” 
Gowan suggested. 

“Aim£e !” she exclaimed. “Aimee has kept us all 
in order, and managed our affairs for us ever since she 
wore Berlin wool boots and a coral necklace. She 
regulated the household in her earliest years, and 
will regulate it until she dies or somebody marries 
her, and what we are to do then our lares and penates 
only know. Aimee ! Nobody ever had any trouble 
with Aim^e, and nobody ever will. Mollie is more 
like me, you see, — shares my weaknesses and minor 


VA GABONDIA . 


Ill 


sins, and always sees her indiscretions ten minutes 
too late for redemption. And then, since she is the 
youngest, and has been the baby so long, we have 
not been in the habit of regarding her as a responsi- 
ble being exactly. It has struck me once or twice 
that Bloomsbury Place hardly afforded wise training 
to Mollie. Poor little soul ! ” And a faint shadow 
fell upon her face and rested there for a moment. 

But it faded out again as her fits of gravity usually 
did, and in a few minutes she was giving him such 
a description of Lady Augusta’s unexpected appear- 
ance upon a like occasion in time past, that he 
laughed until the room echoed, and forgot everything 
else but the audacious grotesqueness of her mimicry. 

It being agreed upon that Mollie’s birthday was 
to be celebrated, the whole household was plunged 
into preparations at once, though, of course, they 
were preparations upon a small scale and of a strictly 
private and domestic nature. Belinda, being promptly 
attacked with inflammation of the throat, which was 
a chronic weakness of hers, was rather inconveniently, 
but not at all to the surprise of her employers, inca- 
pacitated from service, and accordingly Dolly’s duties 
became varied and multitudinous. 

Sudden inflammation on the part of Belinda was 
so unavoidable a consequence of any approaching 
demand upon her services as to have become prover- 
bial, and the swelling of that young person’s “ torn- 


112 


VAGABONDIA. 


suls,” as she termed them, was anticipated as might 
be anticipated the rising of the sun. Not that it was 
Belinda’s fault, however ; Belinda’s anxiety to be use- 
ful amounted at all times to something very nearly 
approaching a monomania ; the fact simply was, that, 
her ailment being chronic, it usually evinced itself at 
inopportune periods. “ It ’s the luck of the family,” 
said Phil. “We never loved a tree or flower, etc.” 

And so Belinda was accepted as an unavoidable 
inconvenience, and was borne with cheerfully, accord- 
ingly. 

It was not expected of her that she should appear 
otherwise on the eventful day than with the regula- 
tion roll of flannel about her neck. Dolly did not 
expect it of her at least, so she was not surprised, on 
entering the kitchen in the morning, to be accosted 
by her grimy young handmaiden in the usual form 
of announcement : — 

“ Which, if yer please, miss, my tornsuls is swole 
most awful.” 

“Are they?” said Dolly. “ Well, I am very sorry, 
Belinda. It can’t be helped, though; Mollie will 
have to run the errands and answer the door-bell, 
and you must stay with me and keep out of the 
draught. You can help a little, I dare say, if you are 
obliged to stay in the kitchen.” 

“ Yes, ’m,” said Belinda, and then sidling up to the 
dresser, and rubbing her nose in an abasement of 


VAGABONDIA. 


113 


spirit, which resulted in divers startling adornments 
of that already rather highly ornamented feature. 
“ If yer please, ’m,” she said, “ I ’m very sorry, Miss 
Dolly. Seems like I ain’t never o’ no use to yer ? ” 

“ Yes, you are,” said Dolly, cheerily, “ and you 
can’t help the sore throat, you know. You are a 
great deal of use to me sometimes. See how you 
save my hands from being spoiled ; they would n’t 
be as white as they are if I had to polish the grates 
and build the fires. Never mind, you will be better 
in a day or so. Now for the cookery-book.” 

“ I never seen no one like her,” muttered the de- 
lighted Sepoy, returning to her vigorous cleaning of 
kettles and pans. “ I never seen no one like none 
on ’em, they ’re that there good-natured an’ easy on 
folk.” 

It was a busy day for Dolly, as well as for the rest 
of them, and there was a by no means unpleasant 
excitement in the atmosphere of business. The 
cookery, too, was a success, the game pates being a 
triumph, the tarts beautiful to behold, and the rest 
of the culinary experiments so marvellous, that Grif- 
fith, arriving early in the morning, and being led 
down into the pantry to look at them as a prelimi- 
nary ceremony, professed to be struck dumb with 
admiration. 

“ There,” said Dolly, backing up against the wall 
in her excitement, and thrusting her hands very far 
8 


114 


V A GA B ONDIA . 


into her apron pockets indeed, — “ there ! what do 
you think of that , sir ? ” And she stood before him 
in a perfect glow of triumph, her cheeks like roses, 
her sleeves rolled above her dimpled elbows, her hair 
pushed on her forehead, and her general appearance 
so deliciously business-like and agreeably professional 
that the dusts of flour that were so prominent a 
feature in her costume seemed only an additional 
charm. 

“ Think of it ? ” said Griffith. “ It is the most im- 
posing display I ever saw in my life. The trimmings 
upon those tarts are positively artistic. You don’t 
mean to say you did it all yourself ? ” 

“ Yes,” regarding them critically, — “ ev-er-y bit,” 
with a little nod for every syllable. 

“ Won-der-ful ! ” with an air of complimentary in- 
credulity. “ May I ask if there is anything you can 
not do ? ” 

“ There is absolutely nothing,” sententiously. And 
then somehow or other they were standing close 
together, as usual, his arm around her waist, her 
hands clasped upon his sleeve. “ When we get the 
house in Putney, or Bayswater, or Peckham Pise, or 
whatever it is to be,” she said, laughing in her most 
coaxing way, “ this sort of thing will be convenient. 
And it is to come, you know, — the house, I mean.” 

“Yes,” admitted Griffith, with dubious cheerful- 
ness, “ it is to come, — some time or other.” 


VAGABONDIA. 


115 


But her cheerfulness was not of a dubious kind at 
all. She only laughed again, and patted his arm 
with a charming air of proprietorship. 

“ I have got something else to show you,” she said ; 
“ something up-stairs. Can you guess what it is ? 
Something for Mollie, — something she wanted which 
is dreadfully extravagant.” 

“What!” exclaimed Griffith. “Not the maroon 
silk affair ! ” 

“ Yes,” her doubt as to the wisdom of her course ex- 
pressing itself in a whimsical little grimace. “ I could 
n’t help it. It will make her so happy ; and I should 
so have liked it myself if I had been in her place.” 

She had been going to lead him up-stairs to show 
it to him as it lay in state, locked up in the parlor, 
but all at once she changed her mind. 

“ No,” she said ; “ I think you had better not see 
it until Mollie comes down in state. It will look 
best then ; so I won’t spoil the effect by letting you 
see it now.” 

Griffith had brought his offering, too, — not much 
of an offering, perhaps, but worth a good deal when 
valued according to the affectionate good-will it repre- 
sented. “ The girls ” had a very warm corner in the 
young man’s tender heart, and the half-dozen pairs of 
gloves he produced from the shades of an inconven- 
ient pocket of his great-coat, held their own modest 
significance. 


116 


VAGABONDIA. 


“ Gloves,” he said, half apologetically, “ always come 
in ; and I believe I heard Mollie complaining of hers 
the other day.” 

Certainly they were appreciated by the young lady 
in question, their timely appearance disposing of a 
slight difficulty of addition to her toilet. 

The maroon silk was to be a surprise ; and surely, 
if ever surprise was a success, this was. Taking into 
consideration the fact that she had spent the earlier 
part of the day in plaintive efforts to remodel a dubi- 
ous garment into a form fitting to grace the occasion, 
it is not to be wondered at that the sudden reali- 
zation of one of her most hopelessly vivid imagin- 
ings rather destroyed the perfect balance of her 
equilibrium. 

She had almost completed her toilet when Dolly 
produced her treasure ; nothing, in fact, remained to 
be done but to don the dubious garment, when Dolly, 
slipping out of the room, returned almost immediately 
with something on her arm. 

“ Never mind your old alpaca, Mollie,” she said. 
u I have something better for you here.” 

Mollie turned round in some wonder to see what 
she meant, and the next minute she turned red and 
pale with admiring amazement. 

“ Dolly,” she said, rather unnecessarily, “ it ’s a ma- 
roon silk.” And she sat down with her hands clasped, 
and stared at it in the intensity of her wonder. 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


117 


“ Yes,” said Dolly, “ it is a maroon silk, and you 
are to wear it to-night. It is Phil’s birthday present 
to you, — and mine.” 

The spell was broken at once. The girl got up 
and made an impulsive rush at her, and, flinging her 
bare white arms out, caught her in a tempestuous 
embrace, maroon silk and all, laughing and crying 
both together. 

“ Dolly,” she said, — “ Dolly, it is the grandest 
thing I ever had in my life, and you are the best two 
« — you and Phil — that ever lived ! ” And not being 
as eloquent by nature as she was grateful and affec- 
tionate, she poured out the rest of her thanks in kisses 
and interjections. 

Then Dolly, extricating herself, proceeded to add 
the final touches to the unfinished toilet, and in a 
verj 7 few minutes Miss Mollie stood before the glass 
regarding herself in such ecstatic content as she had 
perhaps never before experienced. 

“ Who is going to be here, Dolly ? ” she asked, after 
taking her first survey. 

“Who?” said Dolly. “Well, I scarcely know. 
Only one or two of Phil’s friends and Ralph Gowan.” 

Mollie gave a little start, and then blushed in the 
most pathetically helpless way. 

“ Ah ! ” she said, and looked at her reflection in the 
glass again, as if she did not exactly know what else 
to do. 


118 


VA GABONDIA . 


A swift shadow of surprise showed itself in Dolly's 
eyes, and died out almost at the same moment. 

“ Are you ready ?” she said, briefly. “If you are, 
we will go down-stairs.” 

There was a simultaneous cry of admiration from 
them all when the two entered the parlor below, and 
Miss Mollie appeared attired in all her glory. 

“Here she is!” exclaimed ’Toinette and Aimee, 
together. 

“Just the right shade,” was Phil’s immediate com- 
ment. “ Catches the lights and throws out her color- 
ing so finely. Turn round, Mollie.” 

And Mollie turned round obediently, a trifle abashed 
by her own gorgeousness, and looking all the lovelier 
for her momentary abasement. 

Griffith was delighted. He went to her and kissed 
her, and praised her with the enthusiastic frankness 
which characterized all his proceedings with regard 
to the different members of the family of his be- 
trothed. He was as proud of the girl’s beauty as if 
she were a sister of his own. 

Then the object of their mutual admiration knelt 
down upon the hearth-rug, before Tod, who, attired 
in ephemeral splendor, had stopped in his tour across 
the room to stare up with bright baby wonder at the 
novelty of warm, rich color which had caught his 
fancy. 

“I must kiss Tod,” she said; no ceremony was 


V A GA B ONDIA . 


119 


ever considered complete, and no occasion perfect, 
unless Tod had been kissed, and so taken into the 
general confidence. “ Tod, come and be kissed.” 

But, being a young gentleman of by no means 
effusive nature, Tod preferred to remain stationary, 
holding to the toe of his red shoe and gazing upward 
with an expression of approbation and indifference 
commingled, which delighted his feminine admirers 
beyond expression. 

“ He knows it is something new,” said ’Toinette. 
“ See how he looks at it.” Whereupon, of course, 
there was a chorus of delighted acquiescence, and 
Aunt Dolly must needs go down upon the hearth- 
rug, too. 

“Has Aunt Mollie got a grand new dress on, 
Beauty ? ” she said, glowing with such pretty, 
womanly adoration of this atom of all-ruling baby- 
dom, as made her seem the very cream and essence 
of lovableness and sweet nonsense. And then, Mas- 
ter Tod, still remaining unmoved by adulation, and 
still regarding his small circle of tender sycophants 
with round, liquid, baby eyes serene, and dewy red 
lips apart, was so effective in this one of his many 
entrancing moods, that he was no longer to be resisted, 
and so was caught up and embraced with ecstasy. 

“ He notices everything,” cries Aunt Dolly ; “ and 
I ’m sure he understands every word he hears. He 
is so different from other babies.” 


120 


VAGABONDIA . 


Different ! Of course he was different. There was 
not one of them but indignantly scouted at the idea 
of there ever having before existed such a combination 
of infantile gifts and graces. The most obtuse of 
people could not fail to acknowledge his vast superi- 
ority, in spite of their obtuseness. 

“ But,” remarked Aimee, with discretion, “you had 
better stand up, Mollie, or you will crush your front 
breadths.” 

Mollie, with a saving recollection of front breadths, 
arose, and as it chanced just in time to turn toward 
the door as Ralph Gowan came in. 

He was looking his best to-night, — that enviable, 
thorough-bred best, which was the natural result of 
culture, money, and ease ; and Dolly, catching sight 
of Mollie’s guileless blushes, deplored, while she did 
not wonder at them, understanding her as she did. 
It was just like the child to blush, feeling herself 
the centre of observation, but she could not help 
wishing that her blush had not been quite so quick 
and sensitive. 

But if she had flushed when he entered, she 
flushed far more when he came to speak to her. He 
held in his hand a bouquet of flowers, — white camel- 
lia buds and bloom, and dark, shadowy green ; a whim 
of his own, he said. 

“ I heard about the maroon dress,” he added, when 
he had given it to her, “and my choice of your 


VAGABONDIA. 


121 


flowers was guided accordingly. White camellias, 
worn with maroon sik, are artistic, Mollie, your 
brother will tell you.” 

“ They are very pretty,” said Mollie, looking down 
at them in grateful confusion; “and I am much 
obliged. Thank you, Mr. Gowan.” 

“ A great many good wishes go with them,” he said, 
good-naturedly. “ If I were an enchanter, you should 
never grow any older from this day forward.” And 
his speech was something more than an idle compli- 
ment. There was something touching to him, too, in 
the fact of the child's leaving her childhood behind 
her, and confronting so ignorantly the unconscious 
dawn of a womanhood which might hold so much of 
the bitterness of knowledge. 

But, of course, Mollie did not understand this. 

“ Why ? ” she asked him, forgetting her camellias, 
in her wonder at his fancy. 

“ Why ? ” said he. “ Because seventeen is such a 
charming age, Mollie ; and it would be well for so 
many of us if we did not outlive its faith and 
freshness." 

He crossed over to Dolly then, and made his well- 
turned speech of friendly greeting to her also, but 
his most ordinary speech to her had its own subtle 
warmth. He was growing very fond of Dolly Crewe. 
But Dolly was a trifle preoccupied; she was look- 
ing almost anxiously at Mollie and the camellias. 


122 


VA GA BONDI A . 


*He has been paying her a compliment or she 
would not look so fluttered and happy,” she was 
saying to herself. “ I wish he wouldn’t. It may 
please him, hut it is dangerous work for Mollie.” 

And when she raised her eyes to meet Ralph 
Gowan’s, he saw that there was the ghost of a regret- 
ful shadow in them. 

She had too much to do, however, to be troubled 
long. Phil’s friends began to drop in, one by one, 
and the business of the evening occupied her atten- 
tion. There was coffee to be handed round, and she 
stood at a side-table and poured it out herself into 
quaint cups of old china, which were a relic of former 
grandeur ; and as she moved to and fro, bringing one 
of these cups to one, or a plate of fantastic little 
cakes to another, and flavoring the whole repast with 
her running fire of spicy speeches, Gowan found him- 
self following her with his eyes and rather extrava- 
gantly comparing her to ambrosia-bearing Hebe, at 
the same time thinking that in Vagabondia these 
things were better done than elsewhere. 

The most outr6 of Phil’s hirsute and carelessly 
garbed fellow-Bohemians somehow or other seemed 
neither vulgar nor ill at ease. They evidently felt at 
home, and admired faithfully and with complete uni- 
son the feminine members of their friend’s family; and 
their readiness to catch at the bright or grotesque side 
of any situation evinced itself in a manner worthy of 


VA GABON DI A. 


123 


imitation. Then, too, there was Tod, taking excur- 
sionary rambles about the carpet, and, far from being 
in the way, rendering himself an innocent centre of 
attraction. Brown cracked jokes with him, Jones 
bribed him with cake to the performance of before- 
unheard-of feats, and one muscular, fiercely mus- 
tached and bearded young man, whose artistic forte 
was battle-pieces of the most sanguinary description, 
appropriated him bodily and set him on his shoulder, 
greatly to the detriment of his paper collar. 

“ The spirit of Yagabondia is strong in Tod,” said 
Dolly, who at the time was standing near Gowan 
upon the hearth-rug, with her own coffee-cup in 
hand ; “ its manifestation being his readiness to ac- 
commodate himself to circumstances.” 

Through the whole of the evening Mollie and the 
camellias shone forth with resplendence. Those of 
Phil's masculine friends who had known her since 
her babyhood felt instinctively that to-night the 
Rubicon had been passed. Unconscious as she was 
of herself, she was imposing in the maroon silk, and 
these free-and-easy, good-natured fellows were the 
very men to be keenly alive to any subtle power of 
womanhood. So when they addressed her their 
manner was a trifle subdued, and their deportment 
toward her had a faint savor of delicate reverence. 

Dolly was in her element. Her songs, her little 
supper, and her plans of entertainment were a perfect 


124 


VAGABONDIA . 


success. Such jokes as she made and such laughter 
as she managed to elicit through the medium of the 
smallest of them, and such aptness and tact as she 
displayed in keeping up the general fusillade of bon - 
mots and repartee. It would have been impossible 
for a witticism to fall short of its mark under her 
active superintendence, even if witticisms had been 
prone to fall short in Yagabondia, which they decid- 
edly were not. She kept Griffith busy, too, from first 
to last, perhaps because she felt it to be the safest 
plan ; at any rate, she held him near her, and managed 
to keep him in the best of spirits all the evening, and 
more than once Gowan, catching a glimpse of her as 
she addressed some simple remark to the favored one, 
recognized a certain bright softness in her face which 
told its own story. But there would have been little 
use in openly displaying his discomfiture ; so, after 
feeling irritated for a moment or so, Balph Gowan 
allowed himself to drift into attendance on Mollie, 
and, being almost gratefully received by that young 
lady, he did not find that the time passed slowly. 

“ I am so glad you came here,” she said to him, 
plaintively, when he first crossed the room to her 
side. “ I do so hate Brown.” 

“ Brown ! ” he echoed. “ Who is Brown, Mollie ? 
and what has Brown been doing to incur your 
resentment ? ” 

Mollie gave her shoulders a petulant shrug. 


V A GAB ONDIA . 


125 


"Brown is that little man in the big coat/’ she 
said, “ the one who went away when you came. I 
wish he would stay away. I can’t bear him,” with 
delightful candor. 

“ But why ? ” persisted Gowan, casting a glance at 
the side of the room where Dolly stood talking to her 
lover. “ Is it because his coat is so big, or because 
he is so little, that he is so objectionable ? To be at 
once moral and instructive, Mollie, a man is not to be 
judged by his ooat.” 

“ I know that,” returned Mollie, her unconscious 
innocence asserting itself ; “ it is n’t that. You 
couldn’t be as disagreeable as he is if you were 
dressed in rags.” 

Gowan turned quickly to look at her, forgetting 
even Dolly for the instant, — but she was quite in 
earnest, and met his questioning eyes with the most 
pathetic ignorance of having said anything extraordi- 
nary. Indeed, her faith in what she had said was so 
patent that he found it impossible to answer her with 
a light or jesting speech. 

“ It is n’t that,” she went on, pulling at a glossy 
green leaf on her bouquet. “ If he did n’t — if he 
wouldn’t — if he didn’t keep saying things — ” 

“ What sort of things ? ” asked Gowan, to help her 
out of her dilemma. 

"I — don’t know,” was the shy reply. “ Stupid 
things.” 


126 


VA GABONDIA . 


“ Stupid things ! ” he repeated. “ Poor Brown ! ” 
and his eyes wandered to Dolly again. 

But it would not have been natural if he had not 
been attracted by Mollie, after all, and in the course 
of time in a measure consoled by her. She was so 
glad to be protected from the advances of the much 
despised Brown, that he found it rather pleasant than 
otherwise to constitute himself her body-guard, — to 
talk to her as they sat, and to be her partner in the 
stray dances which accidentally enlivened the even- 
ing’s entertainment. She danced well, too, he dis- 
covered, and with such evident enjoyment of her own 
smooth, swaying movements as was quite magnetic, 
and made him half reluctant to release her when 
their first waltz was ended, and she stopped all aflush 
with new bloom. 

“ I am so fond of dancing,” she said, catching her 
breath in a little sigh of ecstasy. “ We all are. It 
is one of the things we can do without spending any 
money, you know.” 

It was shortly after this, just as they were stand- 
ing in twos and threes, chatting and refreshing them- 
selves with Dolly’s confections and iced lemonade, 
that an entirely unexpected advent occurred. There 
suddenly fell upon the general ear a sound as of roll- 
ing wheels, and a carriage stopped before the door. 

Dolly, standing in the midst of a small circle of 
her own, paused in her remarks to listen. 


VAGABONDIA. 


127 


" It is a carriage, that is certain,” she said, — “ and 
somebody is getting out. I don’t know ” — and then 
a light breaking over her face in a flash of horror and 
delight in the situation commingled. “ Phil,” she 
exclaimed, “the Philistines be upon us, — it is Lady 
Augusta ! ” 

And it was. In two minutes that majestic lady 
was ushered in by the excited Belinda, and announced 
in the following rather remarkable manner, — 

“ If yer please, Miss Dolly, here ’s your aunt, Mr. 
Phil.” 

For a second her ladyship was speechless, even 
though Dolly advanced to meet her at once. The 
festive gathering was too much for her, and the sight 
of Ralph Gowan leaning over Mollie in all her 
bravery, holding her flowers for her, and appearing so 
evidently at home, overpowered her completely. But 
she recovered herself at length. 

“ I was not aware,” she said to Dolly, “ that you 
were having a ” — pause for a word sufficiently signifi- 
cant — “ that you were holding a reception,” — a 
scathing glance at the pensive Brown, who was at once 
annihilated. “ You will possibly excuse my involun- 
tary intrusion. I thought, of course ” (emphasis), “ that 
I should find you alone, and as I had something to 
say to you concerning Euphemia, I decided to call to- 
night on my way from the conversazione at Dr. Bug- 
by’s, — perhaps, Dorothea, your friends” (emphasis 


128 


VAGABONDIA, 


again) “ will excuse you for a moment, and you will 
take me into another room,” — this last as if she had 
suddenly found herself in a fever hospital and was 
rather afraid of contagion. 

But apart from Mollie, who pouted and flushed, 
and was extremely uncomfortable, nobody seemed to 
be either chilled or overwhelmed. Phil’s greeting 
was so cordial and unmoved that her ladyship could 
only proffer him the tips of her fingers in imposing 
silence, and Dolly’s air of placid good-humor was so 
perfect that it was as good as a modest theatrical 
entertainment. 

She led her visitor out of the room with a most 
untroubled countenance, after her ladyship had hon- 
ored Gowan with a word or so, kindly signifying her 
intense surprise at meeting him in the house, and 
rather intimating, delicately, that she could not com- 
prehend his extraordinary conduct, and hoped he 
would not live to regret it. 

The interview was not a long one, however. In 
about ten minutes the carriage rolled away, and Dolly 
came back to the parlor with a touch of new color on 
her cheek, and a dying-out spark of fire in her eye ; 
and though her spirits did not seem to have failed 
her, she was certainly a trifle moved by something. 

“ Let us have another waltz,” she said, rather as if 
she wished to dismiss Lady Augusta from the carpet 
“ I will play this time. Phil, find a partner.” 


VAGABOND! A. 


129 


She sat down to the piano at once, and swept off 
into one of Phil's own compositions, and from that 
time till the end of the evening she scarcely gave 
them a moment's pause, and was herself so full of 
sparkle and resources that she quite enraptured 
Gowan, and made the shabby room and the queer 
life seem more novel and entrancing than ever. 

But when the guests were gone, and only Griffith, 
who was always last, remained with Phil and the 
girls, grouped about the fire, the light died out of her 
mood, and she looked just a trifle anxious and tired. 

“ Girls," she said, “ I have some bad news to tell 
you, — at least some news that isn’t exactly good. 
Lady Augusta has given me what Belinda would call 
* a warning.' I visit the select precincts of Bilberry 
House as governess no more.” 

There is no denying it was a blow to them all. 
Her salary had been a very necessary part of the 
family income, and if they had been straitened with 
it, certainly there would be a struggle without it. 

“ Oh ! ” cried Mollie, remorsefully. “ And you have 
just spent nearly all you had on my dress. And you 
do so want things yourself, Dolly. What shall you 
do?” 

“ Begin to take in the daily papers and peruse the 
advertising column,” she answered, courageously. 
“ Never mind, it will all come right before long, and 
we can keep up our spirits until then.” 

9 


130 


VAGABONDIA. 


But, despite her assumed good spirits, when she 
went to see Griffith out of the front door, she held to 
his arm with a significantly clinging touch, and was 
so silent for a moment that he stooped in the dark to 
kiss her, and found her cheek wet with tears. 

It quite upset him, too, poor fellow ! Dolly crying 
and daunted was a state of affairs fraught with an- 
guish to him. 

“Why, Dolly ! ” he exclaimed, tremulously. “ Dolly, 
you are crying ! ” 

And then she did give way, and for a minute or so 
quite needed the shelter and rest of his arms B She 
cared for no other shelter or rest; he was quite 
enough for her in her brightest or darkest day, — just 
this impecunious young man, whose prospects were 
so limited, but whose affection for her was so wholly 
without limit. She might be daunted, but she could 
not remain long uncomforted while her love and 
trust were still unchanged. Ah! there was a vast 
amount of magic in the simple, silent pressure of the 
arm within that shabby coat-sleeve. 

So, as might be expected, she managed to recover 
herself before many minutes, and receive his tender 
condolences with renewed spirit; and when she 
bade him good-night she was almost herself again, 
and was laughing, even though her eyelashes were 
wet. 

“ No,” she said, “ we are not going to destruction, 


VAGABONDIA. 


131 


Lady Augusta to the contrary, and the family luck 
must assert itself some time, since it has kept itself 
so long in the background. And in the mean time 
— well,” with a little parting wave of her hand, 
“Vagabondia to the rescue !” 


CHAPTER VI. 


“ WANTED, A YOUNG PERSON.” 

HERE was much diligent searching of the adver- 



-L tising columns of the daily papers for several 
weeks after this. Advertisements, in fact, became 
the staple literature, and Dolly’s zeal in the perusal 
of them was only to be equalled by her readiness to 
snatch at the opportunities they presented. No 
weather was too grewsome for her to confront, and 
no representation too unpromising for her to be al- 
lured by. In the morning she was at Bayswater 
calling upon the chilling mother of six (four of them 
boys) whose moral nature needed judicious attention, 
and who required to be taught the rudiments of French, 
German, and Latin ; in the afternoon she was at the 
general post-office applying to Q. Y. Z., who had the 
education of two interesting orphans to negotiate for, 
and who was naturally desirous of doing it as eco- 
nomically as possible ; and at night she was at home, 
writing modest, business-like epistles to every letter 
in the alphabet in every conceivable or inconceivable 
part of the country. 


V A GABONDIA . 


133 


“ If I had only been bom ‘ a stout youth/ or * a 
likely young man/ or ‘ a respectable middle-aged per- 
son/ I should have been ‘ wanted ’ a dozen times a 
day/’ she would remark ; “ but as it is, I suppose I 
must wait until something ‘ presents itself/ as the 
Rev. Marmaduke puts it” 

And in defiance of various discouraging and dispir- 
iting influences, she waited with a tolerable degree of 
tranquillity until, in the course of time, her patience 
was rewarded. Sitting by the fire one morning with 
Tod and a newspaper, her eye was caught by an ad- 
vertisement which, though it did not hold out any 
extra inducements, still attracted her attention, so she 
read it aloud to Aimee and ’Toinette. 

“ Wanted, a young person to act as companion to 
an elderly lady. Apply at the printer’s.” 

“ There, Aimee,” she commented, “ there is another. 
I suppose I might call myself ‘ a young person/ Don’t 
you think I had better * apply at the printer’s ’ ? ” 

“ They don’t mention terms,” said Aimee. 

“ You would have to leave home,” said ’Toinette. 
Dolly folded up the paper and tossed it on to the 
table with a half sigh. She had thought of that the 
moment she read the paragraph, and then, very nat- 
urally, she had thought of Griffith. It would not be 
feasible to include him in her arrangements, even if 
she made any. Elderly ladies who engage “ young 
persons ” as companions were not in the habit of tak* 


134 


VAGABONDIA. 


ing kindly to miscellaneous young men, consequently 
the prospect was not a very bright one. 

There would only be letter-writing left to them, 
and letters seemed such cold comfort contrasted with 
every-day meetings. She remembered, too, a certain 
six months she had spent with her Bilberry charges 
in Switzerland, when Griffith had nearly been driven 
frantic by her absence and his restless dissatisfaction, 
and when their letters had only seemed new aids 
to troublous though unintentional games at cross- 
purposes. There might be just the same thing to 
undergo again, but, then, how was it to be avoided ? 
It w r as impossible to remain idle just at this juncture. 

“ So it cannot be helped,” she said, aloud. “ I 
must take it if I can get it, and I must stay in it 
until I can find something more pleasant, though I 
cannot help wishing that matters did not look so 
unpromising. Tod, you will have to go down, Aunt 
Dolly is going to put on her hat and present herself 
at the printer’s in the character of a young person in 
search of an elderly lady.” 

Delays were dangerous, she had been taught by ex- 
perience, so she ran up-stairs at once for her out-door 
attire, and came down in a few minutes, drawing on 
her gloves and looking a trifle ruefully at them. 

“ They are getting discouragingly white at the 
seams,” she said, “ and it seems almost impossible to 
keep them sewed up. I shall have to borrow Aimee’s 


VAGABONDIA. 


135 


muff. What a blessing it is that the weather is so 
cold ! ” 

At the bottom of the staircase she met Mollie. 

“ Phemie is in the parlor, Dolly,” she announced, 
“ and she wants to see you. I don’t believe Lady 
Augusta knows she is here, either, she looks so dread- 
fully fluttered.” 

And when she entered the room, surely enough 
Phemie jumped up with a nervous bound from a 
chair immediately behind the door, and, dropping her 
muff and umbrella and two or three other small arti- 
cles, caught her in a tremulous embrace, and at once 
proceeded to bedew her with tears. 

“ Oh, Dolly ! ” she lamented, pathetically ; “ I have 
come to say good-by ; and, oh ! what shall I do with- 
out you ? ” • 

“ Good-by ! ” said Dolly. “ Why, Phemie ? ” 

“ Switzerland ! ” sobbed Phemie. “ The — the se- 
lect seminary at Geneva, Dolly, where th-that pro- 
fessor of m-music with the lumpy face was.” 

“Dear me !” Dolly ejaculated. “You don’t mean 
to say you are going there, Phemie ? ” 

“ Yes, I do,” answered Euphemia. “ Next week, 
too. And, oh dear, Dolly ! ” trying to recover her 
handkerchief, “ if it had been anywhere else I could 
have borne it, but that,” resignedly, “ was the rea- 
son mamma settled on it. She found out how I 
loathed the very thought of it, and then she decided 


136 


VAGABONDIA. 


immediately. And don’t you remember those mourn- 
ful girls, Dolly, who used to walk out like a funeral 
procession, and how we used to make fun — at least, 
how you used to make fun of the lady principal’s best 
bonnet ? * 

It will be observed by this that Miss Dorothea 
Crewe’s intercourse with her pupils had not been as 
strictly in accordance with her position as instructress 
as it had been friendly. She had even gone so far as 
to set decorum at defiance, by being at once enter- 
taining and jocular, though to her credit it must be 
said that she had worked hard enough for her modest 
salary, and had not neglected even the most trivial of 
her numerous duties. 

She began to console poor Euphemia to the best of 
her ability, but Euphemia refused to be comforted. 

“ I shall have to take lessons from that lumpy pro- 
fessor, Dolly,” she said. “ And you know how I used 
to hate him when he would make love to you. And 
that was mamma’s fault, too, because she would pat- 
ronize him and call him ‘ a worthy person.’ He was 
the only man who admired you I ever knew her to 
encourage, and she would n’t have encouraged him if 
he had n’t been so detestable.” 

It was very evident that the eldest Miss Bilberry 
was in a highly rebellious and desperate state of 
mind. Dolly’s daily visits, educational though they 
were, had been the brightest gleams of sunlight in her 


VAGABONDIA. 


137 


sternly regulated existence. No one had ever dared 
to joke in the Bilberry mansion but Dolly, and no 
one but Dolly had ever made the clan gatherings 
bearable to Euphemia ; and now that Dolly was cut 
off from them all, and there were to be no more jokes 
and no more small adventures, life seemed a desert 
indeed. And then with the calamitous prospect of 
Switzerland and the lumpy professor before her, 
Phemie was crushed indeed. 

“ Mamma doesn't know I came,” she confessed, 
tearfully, at last ; “ but I could n't help it, Dolly, I 
could n't go away without asking you to write to me 
and to let me write to you. You will write to me, 
won’t you ? ” 

Dolly promised at once, feeling a trifle affected her- 
self. She had always been fond of Phemie, and in- 
clined to sympathize with her, and now she exerted 
herself to her utmost to cheer her. She persuaded 
her to sit down, and after picking up the muff and 
umbrella and parcels, took a seat by her, and man- 
aged to induce her to dry her tears and enter into 
particulars. 

“ It will never do for Lady Augusta to see that you 
have been crying,” she said. “Dry your eyes, and 
tell me all about it, and — wait a minute, I have a 
box of chocolates here, and I know you like choco- 
lates” 

It was a childish consolation, perhaps, but Dolly 


138 


VA GA BONDI A . 


knew what she was doing and whom she was dealing 
with, and this comforting with confections was not 
without its kindly girlish tact. Chocolates were one 
of Phemie’s numerous school-girl weaknesses, and a 
weakness so rarely indulged in that she perceptibly 
brightened when her friend produced the gay-colored, 
much-gilded box. And thus stimulated, she poured 
forth her sorrows with more coherence and calmness. 
She was to go to Switzerland, that was settled, and 
the others were to be placed in various other highly 
select educational establishments. They were becom- 
ing too old now, Lady Augusta had decided, to remain 
under Dolly’s care. 

“ And then,” added Euphemia, half timidly, “ you 
won’t be vexed if I tell you, will you ? ” 

“ Certainly not,” answered Dolly, who knew very 
well what was coming, though poor Phemie evidently 
thought she was going to impart an extremely novel 
and unexpected piece of intelligence. “What is it, 
Phemie ? ” 

“Well, somehow or other, I don’t believe mamma 
exactly likes you, Dolly.” 

Now, considering circumstances, this innocent 
speech amounted to a rich sort of thing to say, but 
Dolly did not laugh ; she might caricature Lady 
Augusta for the benefit of her own select circle of 
friends, but she never made jokes about her before 
Phemie, however sorely she might be tempted. Sq 


VAGABONDIA. 


139 


now she helped herself to a chocolate with perfect 
sobriety of demeanor. 

“ Perhaps not,” she admitted. “ I have thought so 
myself, Phemie.” And then, as soon as possible, 
changed the subject. 

At length Phemie rose to go. As Lady Augusta 
was under the impression that she was merely taking 
the dismal daily constitutional, which was one of her 
unavoidable penances, it would not do to stay too 
long. 

“ So I must go,” lamented Phemie ; “ but, Dolly, if 
you would n’t mind, I should so like to see the baby. 
I have never seen him since the day we called with 
mamma, — and I am so fond of babies, and he was so 
pretty.” 

Dolly laughed, in spite of herself. She remem- 
bered the visit so well, and Lady Augusta’s loftily 
resigned air of discovering, in the passively degener- 
ate new arrival, the culminating point of the family 
depravity. 

"It is much to be regretted,” she had said, dis- 
approvingly ; “ but it is exactly what I foresaw from 
the first, and you will have to make the best of it.” 

And then, on Dolly’s modestly suggesting that 
they intended to do so, and were not altogether borne 
down to the earth by the heavy nature of their ca- 
lamity, she had openly shuddered. 

But Phemie had quite clung to the small bundle 


140 


VAGABONDIA . 


of lawn and flannel, and though she had never seen 
Tod since, she had by no means forgotten him. 

“ He will be quite a big boy when I come back,” 
she added. “ And I should so like to see him once 
again while he is a baby.” 

“ Oh, you shall see him,” said Dolly. “ Tod is the 
one individual in this house who always feels him- 
self prepared to receive visitors. He is n't fastidious 
about his personal appearance. If you will come 
into the next room, I dare say we shall find him.” 

And they did find him. Being desirous of employ- 
ing, to the greatest advantage, the time spent in his 
retirement within the bosom of his family, he was 
concentrating his energies upon the mastication of 
the toe of his slipper, upon which task he was bestow- 
ing the strictest and most undivided attention, as he 
sat in the centre of the hearth-rug. 

“ He has got another tooth, Aunt Dolly,” announced 
’Toinette, triumphantly, as soon as the greetings were 
over. “Show Aunt Dolly his tooth.” And, being 
laid upon his back on the maternal knee, in the most 
uncomfortable and objectionable of positions, the 
tooth was exhibited, as a matter calling forth public 
rejoicings. 

Phemie knelt on the carpet before him, the hum- 
blest of his devotees. 

“He is prettier than ever,” she said. “Do you 
think he would come to me, Mrs. Crewe ? ” 


VAGABONDIA. 


141 


And, though the object of her admiration at once 
asserted his prerogatives by openly rejecting her over- 
tures with scorn, she rejoiced over him as ecstatically 
as if he had shown himself the most amiable of in- 
fant prodigies, which he most emphatically had not, 
probably having been rendered irascible by the rash 
and inconsiderately displayed interest in his dental 
developments. Whatever more exacting people might 
have thought, Phemie was quite satisfied. 

“ I wish I was in your place, Dolly,” she said, as 
she was going away. “ You seem so happy together 
here, somehow or other. Oh, dear ! You don’t know 
how dreadful our house seems by contrast. If things 
would break or upset, or look a little untidy, — or if 
mamma’s caps and dresses just would n’t look so solid 
and heavy — ” 

“ Ah ! ” laughed Dolly, “ you have n’t seen our 
worst side, Phemie, — the shabby side, which means 
worn shoes and old dresses and bills. We don’t get 
our whistle for nothing in Yagabondia, though, to be 
sure,” — and I won’t say a memory of the shabby 
coat-sleeve did not suggest the amendment, — “ I 
don’t think we pay too dearly for it ; and I believe 
there is not one of us who would not rather pay for 
it than live without it.” 

And when she gave the girl her farewell kiss, it 
was a very warm one, with a touch of pity in it. It 
was impossible for her to help feeling sympathy for 


142 


VAGABONDIA 


any one who was without the Griffith element in 
existence. 

After this she went out herself to apply at the 
printer’s, and was sent from there to Brabazon Lodge, 
which was a suburban establishment, in a chilly 
aristocratic quarter. An imposing edifice, Brabazon 
Lodge, built of stone, and most uncompromisingly 
devoid of superfluous ornament. So mock minarets 
or unstable towers at Brabazon Lodge, — a substantial 
mansion in a substantial garden behind substantial 
iron gates, and so solid in its appointments that it 
was quite a task for Dolly to raise the substantial 
lion’s head which formed the front-door knocker. 

“ Wanted, a young person,” she was saying to her- 
self, meekly, when her summons was answered by a 
man-servant, and she barely escaped announcing her- 
self as “ the young person, sir.” 

Once inside the house, she was not kept waiting. 
She was ushered into a well-appointed side-room, 
where a bright fire burned in the grate. The man 
retired to make known her arrival to his mistress, 
and Dolly settled herself in a chair by the hearth. 

“ I wonder how many ' young persons ’ have been 
sent away sorrowing this morning,” she said, “ and I 
wonder how Griffith will like the idea of my filling 
the position of companion to an elderly lady, or any 
other order of lady, for the matter of that ? Poor old 
fellow !” and she gave vent to an unmistakable sigh. 


VAGABONDIA. 


143 


But the appearance of the elderly lady put an end 
to her regrets. The door opened and she entered, 
and Dolly rose to receive her. The next instant, 
however, she gave a little start. She had seen the 
elderly lady before, and confronting her now recog- 
nized her at once, — Miss Berenice MacDowlas. 
And that Miss MacDowlas recognized her also was 
quite evident, for she advanced with the air of one 
who was not at all at a loss. 

“ How do you do ? ” she remarked, succinctly, and 
gave Dolly her hand. 

That young person took it modestly. 

“ I believe I have had the pleasure — ” she was 
beginning, when Miss MacDowlas interrupted her. 

“You met me at the BilberrysV ” she said. “I 
remember seeing you very well. You are Dorothea 
Crewe.” 

Dolly bowed in her most insinuatingly graceful 
manner. 

“Take a seat,” said Miss MacDowlas. 

Dolly did so at once. 

Miss MacDowlas looked at her with the air of an 
elderly lady who was not displeased. 

“ I remember you very well,” she repeated. “ You 
were governess there. Why did you leave ? ” 

Dolly did not know very definitely, and told her 
so. 

The notice given her had been unexpected. Lady 


144 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


Augusta had said it was because her pupils were old 
enough to be sent from home. 

“Oh!” said Miss MacDowlas, and looked at her 
again from her hat to her shoes. 

“ You are fond of reading ? ” she asked next. 

“ Yes,” answered Dolly. 

“ You read French well ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Dolly. She knew she need not hesi- 
tate to say that, at least. 

“ You are good company and are fond of society ? ” 

“I am fond of society,” said Dolly, “and I hope I 
am ' good company/ ” 

“ You don’t easily lose patience ? ” 

“ It depends upon circumstances,” said Dolly. 

“ You can play and sing ? ” 

" I did both the night I met you,” returned the 
young person. 

“ So you did,” said Miss MacDowlas, and examined 
her again. 

It was rather an odd interview, upon the whole, 
but it did not end unfortunately. Miss MacDowlas 
wanted a companion who was quick-witted and amus- 
ing, and, having seen that Dolly was both on the 
evening of the Bilberry clan gathering, she had taken 
a fancy to her. So after a little sharp questioning, 
she announced her decision. She would employ her 
to fill the vacant situation at the same rate of salary 
she had enjoyed in her position of governess to the 


VAGABONDIA. 


145 


youthful Bilberrys, and she would employ her at 
once. 

“ I want somebody to amuse me” she said, u and I 
think you can do it. I am often an invalid, and my 
medical man says the society of a young person will 
benefit me.” 

So it was settled that the following week Dolly 
should take up her abode at Brabazon Lodge and 
enter upon the fulfilment of her duties. She was to 
read, play, sing, assist in the entertainment of visitors, 
and otherwise make herself generally useful, and, 
above all, she was to be amusing. 

She left the house and proceeded homeward in a 
peculiar frame of mind. She could have laughed, 
but she was compelled to admit to herself that she 
could also have cried with equal readiness. She had 
met with an adventure indeed. She was a young 
person at large no longer; henceforth she was the 
property of the elderly dragon she had so often 
laughed at with Griffith. And yet the dragon had 
not been so objectionable, after all. She had been 
abrupt and unceremonious, but she had been better 
than Lady Augusta, and she had not shown herself 
illiberal. But there would be no more daily visits, 
from Griffith, no more tete-a-tetes in the shabby parlor, 
no more sitting by the fire when the rest had left the 
room, no more tender and inconsistently long farewells 
at the front door. It was not pleasant to think 
10 


146 


VA GABONDIA . 


about. She found herself catching her breath quickly, 
with a sound like a little sob. 

“ He will miss it awfully/' she said to herself, hold- 
ing her muff closely with her small, cold hands, and 
shutting her eyes to work away a tear; “but he 
won't miss it more than I shall. He might live 
without me perhaps, but I could n't live without him. 
I wonder if ever two people cared for each other as 
we do before ? And I wonder if the time will 
ever come — " And there she broke off again, and 
ended as she so often did. “ Poor old fellow ! " she 
said. “ Poor, dear, patient, faithful fellow ! how I 
love you!'' 

She hurried on briskly after this, but she was won- 
dering all the time what he would say when he found 
out that they were really to be separated. He would 
rebel, she knew, and anathematize fate vehemently. 
But she knew the rest of them would regard it as 
rather a rich joke that chance should have thrown 
her into the hands of Miss MacDowlas. They had 
all so often laughed at Griffith's descriptions of her 
and her letters, given generally when he had been 
galled into a caustic mood by the arrival of one of 
the latter. 

Peaching Bloomsbury Place, Dolly found her lover 
there. He had dropped in on his way to his lodg- 
ings, and was awaiting her in a fever of expectation, 
having heard the news from Aimee. 


VAGABONDIA. 


147 


“ What is this Aimee has been telling me ? ” he 
cried, the moment she entered the room. “ You can’t 
be in earnest, Doll! You can’t leave home alto- 
gether, you know.” 

She tossed her muff on the table and sat down 
on one of the low chairs, with her feet on the 
fender. 

“ I thought so until this morning,” she said, a trifle 
mournfully; “but it can’t be helped. The fact is, it 
is all settled now. I am an engaged young person.” 

“ Settled ! ” exclaimed Griffith, indignantly. “ En- 
gaged ! Dolly, I did n’t think you would have done 
it.” 

“ I could n’t help doing it,” said Dolly, her spirits 
by no means rising as she spoke. “ How could I ? ” 

But he would not be* consoled by any such cold 
comfort. He had regarded the possibility of her 
leaving the house altogether as something not likely 
to be thought of. Very naturally, he was of the opin- 
ion that Dolly was as absolute a necessity to every 
one else as she was to himself. What should he do 
without her ? How could he exist ? It was an un- 
reasoning insanity to talk about it. He was so 
roused by his subject indeed, that, neither of them 
being absolutely angelic in temperament, they wan- 
dered off into something very like a little quarrel 
about it, — he, goaded to lover-like madness by the 
idea that she could live without him ; she, finding her 


148 


VAGABONDIA. 


low spirits culminate in a touch of anger at his hot- 
headed, affectionate obstinacy. 

“ But it is not to be expected,” he broke out at last, 
without any reason whatever, — “ it is not to be ex- 
pected that you can contend against everything. You 
are tired of disappointment, and I don’t blame you. 
I should be a selfish dolt if I did. If Gowan had 
been in my place he could have married you, and 
have given you a home of your own. I never shall 
be able to do that. But,” with great weakness and 
evidence of tribulation at the thought, “ I didn’t 
think you would be so cool about it, Dolly.” 

“ Cool ! ” cried Dolly, waxing wroth and penitent 
both at once, as usual. “ Who is cool ? Not I, that 
is certain. I shall miss you every hour of my life, 
Griffith.” And the sad little shadow on her face was 
so real that he was pacified at once, 

“ I am an unreasonable simpleton ! ” was his next 
remorseful outburst. 

“ You have said that before,” said Dolly, rather 
hard-heartedly ; but in spite of it she did not refuse 
to let him be as affectionate as he chose when he 
knelt down by her chair, as he did the next minute. 

It would be a great deal better for me” she half 
whispered, breaking the suspicious silence that fol- 
lowed, — “ it would be a great deal better for me if 
I did not care for you half so much ; ” and yet at 
the same time she leaned a trifle more toward him in 


VAGABONDIA. 


149 


the most traitorous of half-coaxing, half-reproachful 
ways. 

“ It would be the death of me,” said Griffith ; and 
he at once plunged into an eloquently persuasive 
dissertation upon the height and depth and breadth 
and force of his love for her. He was prone to such 
dissertations, and always ready with one to improve 
any occasion ; and I am compelled to admit that, far 
from checking him, Dolly rather liked them, and was 
given to encourage and incite him to their delivery. 
When this one was ended, he was quite in the frame 
of mind to listen to reason, and let her enter into 
particulars concerning her morning’s efforts, which 
she did, at length, only adding a flavor of the myste- 
rious up to the introduction of Miss MacDowlas. 

“ What ! ” cried out Griffith, when she let out the 
secret. “Confound it ! No ! Not Aunt MacDowlas 
in the flesh, Dolly ? You are joking.” 

“ No,” answered Dolly, shaking her head at the 
amazed faces of the girls, who had come in during 
the recital, and who had been guilty of the impro- 
priety of all exclaiming at once when the climax 
was reached. “ I am in earnest. I am engaged as 
companion to no less a person than Miss Berenice 
MacDowlas.” 

“ Why, it is like something out of a three-volumed 
novel,” said Mollie. 

“ It is a good joke,” said ’Toinette. 


150 


VAGABONDIA . 


“ It is very awkward/’ commented Aimee. “ If 
she finds out you are engaged to Griffith, she will 
think it so indiscreet of you both that she will cut 
him off with a shilling.” 

“ Indiscreet!” echoed Dolly. “So we are indis- 
creet, my sage young friend, — but indiscretion is 
like variety, it is the spice of life.” 

And by this brisk speech she managed to sweep 
away the shadow which had touched Griffith’s face, 
at the unconscious hint at their lack of wisdom. 

“ Don’t say such a thing again,” she said to Aimee 
afterward, when they were talking the matter over, 
as they always talked things over together, “ or he 
will fancy that you share his own belief that he has 
something to reproach himself with. Better to be 
indiscreet than to love one another less.” 

“A great deal better,” commented the wise one of 
the family, oracularly. She was not nineteen yet, 
this wise one, but she was a great comfort and help 
to Dolly, and indeed to all of them. “ And it is n’t 
my way to blame you, either, Dolly, though things do 
look so entangled. I never advised you to give it up, 
you know.” 

“Give it up,” cried Dolly, a soft, pathetic warmth 
and color rising to her face and eyes. “ Give it up ! 
There would be too much of what has past and what 
is to come to give up with it. Give it up ! I wouldn’t 
if I could, and I could n’t if I would.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


IN WHICH A SPARK IS APPLIED. 

I T was several days before Bloomsbury Place settled 
down and became itself again after Dolly’s de- 
parture. They all missed her as they would have 
missed any one of their number who had chanced to 
leave them ; but Griffith, coming in to make his daily 
visits, was naturally almost disconsolate, and for a 
week or so refused to be comforted. 

He could not overcome his habit of dropping in on 
his way to and from his lodgings, which were near 
by ; it was a habit of too long standing to be overcome 
easily, and besides this, he was so far a part of the 
family circle that his absence from it would have 
been regarded by its other members as something 
rather like a slight, so he was obliged to pay them 
the delicate attention of presenting himself at least 
once a day. And thus his wounds were kept open. 
To come into the parlor and find them all there but 
Dolly, to see her favorite chair occupied by Mollie or 
Aimee or ’Toinette, to hear them talk about her and 


152 


V A GA B ONDIA . 


discuss her prospects, — well, there were times when 
he was quite crushed by it. 

“ If there was any hope of a better day coming,” 
he said to Aimee, who, through being the family sage, 
was, of course, the family confidante, “ if there was 
only something real to look forward to, but we are 
just where we were three years ago, and this sort of 
thing cannot go on forever. What right have I to 
hold her to her word when other men might make 
her happier?” 

Aimee, sitting on a stool at his feet and looking 
reflective, shook her head. 

“ That is not a right view to take,” she said, “ and 
it is n’t fair to Dolly. Dolly would be happier with 
you on a pound a week than she would be with any 
one else on ten thousand a year. And you ought to 
know that by this time, Griffith. It is n’t a question 
of happiness at all.” 

“ I don’t mean — ” he was beginning, but Aimee 
interrupted him. Her part of this love affair was to 
lay plans for the benefit of the lovers and to endeavor 
to settle their little difficulties in her own way. 

“ I am very fond of Dolly,” she said. 

“Fond of her !” echoed Griffith. “So am I. Who 
isn’t?” 

“I am very fond of Dolly,” Aimee proceeded 
“ And I know her as other people do not, perhaps. 
She does not show as much of her real self to out* 


VA GABONDIA . 


153 


siders as they think. I have often thought her daring, 
open way deceived people when it made them fancy 
she was so easy to read. She has romantic fancies of 
her own the world never suspects her of, — if I did 
not know her as I do, she is the last person on earth 
I should suspect of cherishing such fancies. The fact 
is, you are a sort of romance to her, and her love for 
you is one of her dreams, and she clings to it as closely 
as she would cling to life. It is a dream she has lived 
on so long that it has become part of herself, and it 
is my impression that if anything happened to break 
her belief in it she would die, — yes, die ! ” with an- 
other emphatic shake of the pretty head. “And 
Dolly is n’t the sort of girl to die for nothing.” 

Griffith raised his bowed head from his hands, his 
% soft, dark, womanish eyes lighting up and his sallow 
young face flushing. “ God bless her, — no ! ” he said. 
“ Her life has not been free from thorns, even so far, 
and she has not often cried out against them.” 

“No,” answered Aimee. “And when the roses 
Qome, no one will see as you will how sweet she finds 
them. Your Dolly is n’t Lady Augusta’s Dolly, or 
Mollie’s, or Ralph Go wan’s, or even mine ; she is the 
Dolly no one but her lover and her husband has ever 
seen or ever will see. You can get at the spark in 
the opal.” 

Griffith was comforted, as he often found himself 
comforted, under the utterances of this wise one. 


154 


VAGABONDIA. 


His desperation was toned down, and he was readier 
to hope for the best and to feel warm at heart and 
grateful, — grateful for Dolly and the tender thoughts 
that were bound up in his love for her. The tender 
phantom Aimee’s words had conjured up, stirred 
within his bosom a thrill so loving and impassioned, 
that for the time the radiance seemed to emanate 
from the very darkest of his clouds of disappointment 
and discouragement. He was reminded that but for 
those very clouds the girl’s truth and faith would 
never have shone out so brightly. But for their pov- 
erty and long probation, he could never have learned 
how much she was ready to face for love’s sake. 
And it was such an innocent phantom, too, this 
bright little figure smiling upon him through the 
darkness, with Dolly’s own face, and Dolly’s own 
saucy, fanciful ways, and Dolly’s own hands out- 
stretched toward him. He quite plucked up spirit. 

“ If Old Flynn could just be persuaded to give me 
a raise,” he said ; “ it would n’t take much of an in- 
come for two people to live on.” 

“ No,” answered the wise one, feeling some slight 
misgivings, more on the subject of the out-go than 
the income. “ You might live on very little — if 
you had it.” 

“ Yes,” said Griffith, apparently struck by the bril- 
liancy of the observation, “ Dolly and I have said so 
often.” 


VAGABONDIA. 


155 


“Let me see,” considered Aim^e, “suppose we 
were to make a sort of calculation. Give me your 
lead-pencil and a leaf out of your pocket-book.” 

Griffith produced both at once. He had done it 
often enough before when Dolly had been the calcu- 
lator, and had made a half-serious joke of the per- 
formance, counting up her figures on the tips of her 
fingers, and making great professions of her knowl- 
edge of domestic matters ; but it was a different 
affair in Aimee’s hands. Aimee was in earnest, and 
bending over her scrap of paper, with two or three 
little lines on her white forehead, began to set things 
down with an air at once business-like and vigorous, 
reading the various items aloud. 

“Rent, coals, taxes, food, wages, — you can’t do 
your own washing, you know, — clothes, etceteras. 
There it is, Griffith,” the odd, tried look settling in 
her eyes. 

Griffith took the paper. 

“ Thank you,” he remarked, resignedly, after he 
had glanced at it. “Just fifty pounds per annum 
more than I have any prospect of getting. But you 
are very kind to take so much interest in it, little wo- 
man.” “ Little woman ” was his pet name for her. 

She put her hand up to her forehead and gave the 
wrinkles a little rub, as if she would have liked to 
rub them away. 

“No,” she said, in distress. “I am very fond of 


156 


V A GA B ONDIA . 


calculating, so it isn’t any trouble to me. I only 
wish I could calculate until what you want and what 
you have got would come out even.” 

Griffith sighed. He had wished the same thing 
himself upon several occasions. 

He had one consolation in the midst of his tribu- 
lations, however. He had Dolly’s letters, one of 
which arrived at “ the office ” every few days. Cer- 
tainly they were both faithful correspondents. Tied 
with blue ribbon in a certain strong box, lay an im- 
mense collection of small envelopes, all marked with 
one peculiarity, namely, that the letters inside them 
had been at once closely written, and so much too 
tightly packed that it seemed a wonder they had 
ever arrived safely at their destination. They bore 
various postmarks, foreign and English, and were of 
different tints, but they were all directed in the one 
small, dashing hand, whose fs were crossed with an 
audacious little flourish, and whose capitals were so 
prone to run into whimsical little curls. Most of 
them had been written when Dolly had sojourned 
with her charges in Switzerland, and some of them 
were merely notes of appointment from Bloomsbury 
Place ; but each of them held its own magnetic attrac- 
tion for Griffith, and not one of them would he have 
parted with for untold gold. He could count these 
small envelopes by the score, but he had never re- 
ceived one in his life without experiencing a positive 


VA GA BONDI A . 


157 


throb of delight, which held fresh pleasure every 
time. 

Most of these letters, too, had stories of their own. 
Some had come when he had been discouraged and 
down at heart, and they had been so full of sunshine, 
and pretty, loving conceits, that by the time he had 
finished reading them he had been positively jubi- 
lant ; some, I regret to say, were a trifle wilful and 
coquettish, and had so roused him to jealous fancies 
that he had instantly dashed off a page or so of insane 
reproach and distrust which had been the beginning 
of a lover’s quarrel; some of them (always written 
after he had been specially miserable and unreason- 
ing) were half-pathetic mixtures of reproach and ap- 
peal, full of small dashes of high indignation, and 
outbursts of penitence, and with such a capricious, 
yet passionate ring in every line, that they had 
seemed less like letters than actual speech, and had 
almost forced him to fancy that Dolly herself was at 
his side, all in the flush and glow of one of her pret- 
tiest remorseful outbreaks. 

And these letters from Brabazon Lodge were just 
as real, so they at least helped him to bear his trials 
more patiently than he could otherwise have done. 
She was far more comfortable than she had expected 
to be, she told him. Her duties were light, and Miss 
MacDowlas not hard to please, and altogether she 
was not dissatisfied. 


158 


VAGABONDIA. 


“ But that I am away from you? she wrote, *' I 
should say Brabazon Lodge was better than the Bil- 
berrys’. There is no skirmishing with Lady Augusta, 
at least ; and, though skirmishing with Lady Augusta 
is not without its mild excitement, it is not necessary 
to one’s happiness, and may be dispensed with. I 
Wonder what Miss MacDowlas would say if she 
knew why I wear this modest ring on my third 
finger. When I explained to her casually that we 
were old friends, she succinctly remarked that you 
Were a reprobate, and, feeling it prudent not to pro- 
ceed with further disclosures, I bent my head de- 
murely over my embroidery, and subsided into silence. 
I cannot discover why she disapproves of you unless 
it is that she has erratic notions about literary people. 
Perhaps she will alter her opinion in time. As it is, 
it can scarcely matter whether she knows of our en- 
gagement or not. When a fitting opportunity arrives 
I shall tell her, and I don’t say I shall not enjoy the 
spice of the denouement . In the meantime I read 
aloud to her, talk, work wonders in Berlin wool, and 
play or sing when she asks me, which is not often. 
In the morning we drive out, in the afternoon she 
enjoys her nap, and in the evening I sit decorously 
intent upon the Berlin wonders, but thinking all the 
time of you and the parlor in Bloomsbury Place, 
where Tod disports himself in triumphant indiffer- 
ence to consequences, and where the girls discuss the 


VAGABONDIA. 


159 


lingering possibilities of their wardrobes. You may 
tell Mollie we are very grand, — we have an im- 
mense footman, who accompanies us in our walks or 
drives, and condescends to open and shut our car- 
riage-door for us, with the air of a gentleman at 
leisure. I am rather inclined to think that this gen- 
tleman has cast an approving eye upon me, as I 
heard him observe to the housemaid the other day, 
that I was ‘ a reether hinterestin’ young party/ which 
mark of friendly notice has naturally cheered me on 
my lonely way.” 

Among the people who felt the change in the 
household keenly, Ealph Gowan may assuredly be 
included. He missed Dolly as much as any of them 
did, but he missed her in a different manner. He 
did not call quite as often as he had been in the habit 
of doing, and when he did call he was more silent 
and less entertaining. Dolly had always had an in- 
spiring effect upon him, and, lacking the influence of 
her presence, even Vagabondia lost something of its 
charm. So sometimes he was guilty of the impolite- 
ness of slipping into half-unconscious reveries of a 
few minutes’ duration, and, being thus guilty upon 
one particular occasion, he was roused, after a short 
lapse of time, through the magnetic influence of a 
pair of soft eyes fixed upon him, which eyes he en- 
countered the instant he looked up, with a start. 

Mollie — the eyes were Mollie’s — dropped her 


160 


VAGABONDIA. 


brown lashes with a quick motion, turning a little 
away from him ; so he smiled at her with a sense of 
half-awakened appreciation. It was so natural to 
smile so at Mollie. 

“Why, Mollie,” he said, “what ails us? We are 
not usually so dull. We have not spoken to each 
other for ten minutes.” 

The girl did not look at him ; her round, childish 
cheek was flushed, and her eyes were fixed on the 
fire, half proudly, half with a sort of innocently trans- 
parent indifference. 

“Perhaps we have nothing worth saying to each 
other,” she said. “ Everybody is n’t like Dolly.” 

Dolly ! He colored slightly, though he smiled 
again. How did she know he was thinking of Dolly ? 
Was it so patent a fact that even she could read it in 
his face ? It never occurred to him for an instant 
that there could exist a reason why the eyes of this 
grown-up baby should be sharpened. She was such 
a very baby, with her ready blushes and her pettish, 
lovely face. 

“ And so you miss Dolly, too ? ” he said. 

She shrugged her shoulders, as if to imply that she 
considered the question superfluous. 

“ Of course I do,” she answered ; “ and of course 
we all do. Dolly is the sort of person likely to be 
missed.” 

She was so petulant about it that, not understanding 


VAGABONDIA. 


161 


her, he was both amused and puzzled, and so by de- 
grees was drawn into making divers gallant, almost 
caressing speeches, such as might have been drawn 
from him by the changeful mood of a charming, 
wilful child. 

“ Something has made you angry,” he said. “ What 
is it, Mollie ? ” 

“ Nothing has made me angry,” she replied. “I 
am not angry.” 

“ But you look angry,” he returned, “ and how do 
you suppose I am to be interesting when you look 
angry?” 

“ It cannot matter to you,” said Miss Mollie, 
“ whether I am angry or not.” 

“ Not matter ! ” he echoed, with great gravity. “ It 
amounts to positive cruelty. Just at this particular 
moment I feel as if I should never smile again.” 

She reddened to her very throat, and then turned 
round all at once, flashing upon him such a piteous, 
indignant, indescribable glance as almost startled 
him. 

“ You are making fun of me,” she cried out. “ You 
always make fun of me. You wouldn’t talk so to 
Dolly.” And that instant she burst into tears. 

He was dumbfounded. He could not comprehend 
it at all. He had thought of her as being so com- 
pletely a child, that her troubles were never more 
than a child’s troubles, and her moods a child’s 


11 


162 


V A GA B ONDIA . 


moods. He had admired her, too, as he would have 
admired her if she had been six years old, and he 
had never spoken to her as he would have spoken to 
a woman, in the whole course of their acquaintance. 
She was right in telling him that he would not have 
said such things to Dolly. He was both concerned 
and touched. What could he do but go to her and 
be dangerously penitent, and say a great many things 
easily said, but not soon to be forgotten ! Indeed, her 
soft, nervous, passionate sobs, of which she was so 
much ashamed, her innocent tremor, and her pretty, 
wilful disregard of his remorse were such a new sensa- 
tion to him, that it must be confessed he was not so 
discreet as he should have been. 

“ You never speak so to Dolly,” she persisted, “nor 
to Aimee, either, and Aimee is only two years older 
than I am. It is not my fault,” petulantly, “ that I 
am only seventeen.” 

“ Fault ! ” he repeated after her. “ It is a very 
charming fault, if it is one. Come, Mollie,” looking 
down at her with a tender softness in his eyes, “ make 
friends with me again, — we ought to be friends. 
See, — let us shake hands ! ” 

Of course she let him take her hand and hold it 
lightly for a moment as he talked, his really honest 
remorse at his blunder making him doubly earnest 
and so doubly dangerous. She had swept even Dolly 
out of his mind for the time being, and she occupied 


VAGABONDIA. 


163 


his attention so fully for the rest of the evening that 
he had not the time to be absent-minded again. In 
half an hour all traces of her tears had fled, and she 
was sitting on her footstool near him, accepting with 
such evident delight his efforts at amusing her, that 
she quite repaid him for his trouble. 

After this there seemed to be some connecting link 
between them. In default of other attractions, he 
made headway with Mollie, and was to some extent 
consoled. He talked to her when he made his visits, 
and it gradually became an understood thing that 
they were very good friends. He won her confidence 
completely, — so far, indeed, that she used to tell 
him her troubles, and was ready to accept what meed 
of praise or friendly blame he might think fit to 
bestow upon her. 

It was a few weeks after the above-recorded epi- 
sode that Griffith arrived one afternoon, in some haste, 
with a note from Dolly addressed to Aimee, and con- 
taining a few hurried lines. It had been enclosed 
in a letter to himself. 

Somewhat unexpectedly Miss MacDowlas had 
decided upon giving a dinner-party, and Dolly 
wanted the white merino, which she had forgotten 
to put into her trunk when she had packed it. 
Would they make a parcel of it and send it by 
Mollie to Brabazon Lodge ? 

“ You will have to go at once, Mollie,” said Aimee, 


164 


VAGABONDIA. 


after reading the note. “ It will be dark in an hour, 
and you ought not to be out after dark.” 

“ It is a great deal nicer to be out then,” said Mol- 
lie, whose ideas of propriety were by no means rigid. 
“ I like to see the shop windows lighted up. Where 
is my hat ? Does anybody know ? ” rising from the 
carpet and abandoning Tod to his own resources. 

Nobody did know, of course. It was not natural 
that anybody should. Hats and gloves and such 
small fry were generally left to provide quarters for 
themselves in Bloomsbury Place. 

“What is the use of bothering ?” remarked Mrs. 
Phil, disposing of the difficulty of their non-appear- 
ance when required, simply ; “ they always turn up 
in time.” And in like manner Mollie’s hat “ turned 
up,” and in a few minutes she returned to the parlor, 
tying the elastic under her hair. 

“ Your hair wants doing,” said Aimee, having made 
up her parcel. 

“ Yes,” replied Mollie, contentedly, “ Tod has been 
pulling himself up by it; but it would be such a 
trouble to do anything to it just now, and I can tuck 
it back in a bunch. It only looks a little fuzzy, and 
that ’s fashionable. Does this jacket look shabby, 
Aimee ? It is a good thing it has pockets in it. I 
always did like pockets in a jacket, they are so nice 
to put your hands in when your gloves have holes in 
them.” 


V A GA BONDI A. 


165 


“Your gloves oughtn't to have holes in them,* 
commented Aimee. 

“ But how can you help it if you have n't got the 
money to buy new ones ? " asked Mollie. 

“ You ought to mend them," said the wise one. 

“ Mend them ! " echoed Mollie, regarding two or 
three bare pink finger-tips dubiously. “They are 
not worth mending.” 

“ They were once,” said Aimee ; “ and you ought 
to have stitched them before it was too late. But 
that is always our way,” wrinkling her forehead with 
her usual touch of old-young anxiousness. “We are 
not practical. There ! take the parcel and walk 
quickly, Mollie.” 

Once on the street, Mollie certainly obeyed her. 
With the parcel in one arm, and with one hand 
thrust into the convenient pocket, she hurried on her 
way briskly, not even stopping once to look at the 
shop windows. Quite unconscious, too, was she of 
the notice she excited among the passers-by. People 
even turned to look after her more than once, as 
indeed they often did. The scarlet scarf twisted 
round her throat to hide the frayed jacket collar, and 
the bit of scarlet mixed with the trimmings of her 
hat contrasted artistically with her brown eyes, and 
added brightness to the color on her cheeks. It was 
no wonder that men and women alike, in spite of 
their business-like hurry, found time to glance at 


166 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


her and even turn their heads over their shoulders 
to look backward, as she made her way along the 
pavement. 

It was quite dark when she reached her destina- 
tion, and Brabazon Lodge was brilliantly lighted up, 
— so brilliantly, indeed, that when the heavy front 
door was opened, in answer to her ring, she was a 
trifle dazzled by the flood of brightness in which 
Dolly’s friend, the “ gentleman at leisure,” seemed to 
stand. 

On stating her errand, she was handed over to a 
female servant, who stood in the halL 

“ She was to be harsked in,” she heard the footman 
observe, confidentially, to the young woman, “ and 
taken to Miss Crewe’s room immediate.” 

So she was led up-stairs, and ushered into a pretty 
bedroom, where she found Dolly sitting by the 
fire in a dressing-gown, with her hair about her 
shoulders. 

She jumped up the moment Mollie entered, and 
ran to her, brush in hand, to kiss her. 

“ You are a good child,” she said. “ Come to the 
fire and sit down. Did you have any trouble in find- 
ing the house ? I was afraid you would. It was 
just like me to forget the dress, and I never missed 
it until I began to look for it, wanting to wear it 
to-night. How is Tod ? ” 

“ He has got another tooth,” said Mollie. “ I 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


167 


found it to-day. Dolly,” glancing round, “ how nice 
your room is ! ” 

‘‘Yes,” answered Dolly, checking a sigh, “ but 
don’t sigh after the fleshpots of Egypt, Mollie. One 
does n’t see the dullest side of life at Bloomsbury 
Place, at least.” 

“ Is it dull here ? ” asked Mollie. 

Dolly shrugged her expressive shoulders. 

“ Berlin-wool work is n’t exciting,” she said. “ How 
did you leave Griffith ? ” 

“ Low-spirited,” replied Mollie. “ I heard him tell 
Aimee this afternoon that he could n’t stand it much 
longer.” 

Dolly began to brush her hair, and brushed it 
very much over her face, perhaps because she wished 
to take advantage of its shadow ; for most assuredly 
Mollie caught sight of something sparkling amongst 
the abundant waves almost like a drop of dew. 

“ Dolly,” she said at last, breaking the awkward 
little sympathetic silence which naturally followed, 
“do you remember our reading the 'Vicar of Wake- 
field’?” 

“Yes,” said Dolly, in a mournful half-whisper ; 
she could not trust herself to say more. 

“ And about the family being ‘ up,’ and then being 
‘ down ’ ? I always think we are like they were. 
First it is ‘ the family up,’ and then * the family 
down.’ It is down just now.” 


168 


V A GA B ONDIA . 


“ Yes,” said Dolly. 

“ It will be ‘ up ’ again, ifi time,” proceeded Mollie, 
sagaciously. “ It always is.” 

Dolly tried to laugh, but her laugh was a nervous 
little effort which broke off in another sound alto- 
gether. Berlin- wool work and Brabazon Lodge had 
tried her somewhat and — she wanted Griffith. It 
seemed to her just then such a far distant unreal 
Paradise, — that dream of the modest parlor with the 
door shut against the world, and the green sofa drawn 
near the fire. Were they ever to attain it, or were 
they to grow old and tired out waiting, and hoping 
against hope ? 

She managed to rally, however, in a few minutes. 
Feeling discouraged and rebellious was not of much 
use, — that was one of Vagabondia’s earliest learned 
lessons. And what good was there in making Mollie 
miserable ? So she plucked up spirit and began 
to talk, and, to her credit be it said, succeeded in 
being fairly amusing, and made Mollie laugh outright 
half a dozen times during the remainder of her short 
stay. It was only a short stay, however. She re- 
membered Aimee’s warning at last, and rose rather in 
a hurry. 

" I shall have to walk quickly if I want to get 
home in time for tea,” she said, “so good-night, Dolly 
You had better finish dressing ” 

“ So I had,” answered Dolly. “ I am behind time 


V A GA BONDI A . 


169 


already, but I shall not be many minutes, and Miss 
MacDowlas is not like Lady Augusta. Listen; I 
believe I hear wheels at the door now. It must be 
later than I fancied. ,, 

It was later than she fancied. As Mollie passed 
through the hall two gentlemen who were ascending 
the steps crossed her path, and, seeing the face of one 
who had not appeared to notice her presence, she 
started so nervously that she dropped her glove. 
His companion — a handsome, foreign-looking man — 
bent down and, picking it up, returned it to her, with 
a glance of admiring scrutiny which made her more 
excited than ever. She scarcely had the presence of 
mind to thank him, but rushed past him and out 
into the night in a passionate flutter of pain and 
sudden childish anger, inconsistent enough. 

“ He never saw me ! ” she said to herself, catching 
her breath piteously. “ He is going to see Dolly. It 
is n't the party he cares for, and it is n’t Miss Mac- 
Dowlas, — it is nobody but Dolly. He has tried to 
get an invitation just because — because he cares for 
Dolly.” 

She reached home in time for tea, arriving with so 
little breath and so much burning color that they all 
stared at her, and Aimee asked her if she had been 
frightened. 

“No,” she answered, “but I ran half the way be- 
cause I wanted to be in time.” 


170 


VAGABONDIA. 


She did not talk at tea, and scarcely ate anything, 
and when Griffith came in, at about nine o’clock, he 
found her lying on the sofa, flushed and silent. She 
said she had a headache. 

“ I took Dolly her dress,” she said. “ They are 
having a grand party and — Does Miss MacDowlas 
know Mr. Gowan, Griffith ? ” 

Griffith started and changed countenance at once. 

“ No,” he answered. “ Why ? ” 

“ He was there,” she said, listlessly. “ I met him 
in the hall as I came out, but he did not see me. 
He must have tried to get an invitation because — 
well, you know how he likes Dolly.” 

And thus, the train having been already laid, was 
the spark applied. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE BEGINNING OF THE ENDING. 

I T was some time before Griffith recovered from 
the effects of this simple announcement of Mol- 
lie’s. Though he scarcely confessed as much to him- 
self, he thought of it very much oftener than was 
conducive to his own peace of mind, and in thinking 
of it he found it assuming a greater importance and 
significance than he had at first recognized in it, and 
was influenced accordingly. He went home to his 
lodgings, depressed and heavy of spirit ; in fact, he 
left Bloomsbury Place earlier than usual, because he 
longed to be alone. He could think of nothing but 
Dolly, — Dolly in the white merino, shining like a 
stray star among her employer’s guests, and gladden- 
ing the eyes of Ralph Gowan. He knew so well 
how she would look, and how this fellow would follow 
her in his easy fashion, without rendering himself 
noticeable, and manage to be near her through the 
evening and hold his place as if he had a right to it, 
and he knew, too, how natural it would be for Dolly’s 
eyes to light up in her pleasure at being saved from 


172 


VAGABONDIA. 


boredom, and how her innocent gladness would show 
itself in a score of pretty ways. And it was as 
Mollie said, — it was for Dolly's sake that Ealph 
Gowan was there to-night. 

“ She must know that it is so herself,” he groaned, 
dropping his head upon the table ; “ but she cannot 
help it. She would if she could. Yes, I 'll believe 
that. She could never be false to me. I must hold 
fast to that in spite of everything. I should go mad 
if I did n't. I could never lose you, Dolly, — I could 
never lose you ! ” 

But he groaned again the next moment from the 
bottom of his desperate heart. He had become tan- 
gled in yet another web of misery. 

“ It is only another proof of what I have said a 
thousand times,'' he cried out. “ My claim upon her 
is so weak, that this fellow does not think it worth 
regarding. He thinks it may be set aside, — they 
all think it may be set aside. I should not wonder,” 
clenching his hand and speaking through his teeth, — 
“ I should not wonder if he has laughed many a time 
at his fancy of how it will end, and how easy it will 
be to thrust the old love to the wall ! ” 

At this moment, in the first rankling sting of 
humiliation and despair, he could almost have struck 
a murderous blow at the man whom fortune had set 
on such a pinnacle of pride and insolence, as it 
seemed to his galled fancy. He was not in the mood 


V A GA B ONDIA . 


173 


to be either just or generous, and he saw in Ralph 
Go wan nothing hut a man who had both the power 
and will to rival him, and rob him of peace and hope 
forever. If Dolly had been with him, in all proba- 
bility his wretchedness would have evaporated in a 
harmless outburst, which would have touched the 
girl’s heart so tenderly that she would have withheld 
nothing of love and consolation which could reassure 
him, and so in the end the tempest would have left 
no wound behind. But as it was left to himself and 
his imaginings, every thought held its bitter sting. 
He was, as it were, upon the brink of an abyss. 

And while this danger was threatening her, Dolly 
was setting herself steadfastly to her task of enter- 
taining her employer’s guests, though it must be con- 
fessed that she found it necessary to summon all her 
energies. She was thinking of Griffith, but not as 
Griffith was thinking of her. She was picturing him 
looking desolate among the group round the fire at 
Bloomsbury Place, or else working desperately and 
with unnecessary energy amidst the dust and gloom 
of the dimly lighted office ; and the result was that 
her spirit almost failed. It was quite a relief to en- 
counter Ralph Gowan, as she did, on entering the 
room : he had seen them all latterly, and could enter 
into particulars ; and so, in her pleasure, it must be 
owned that her face brightened, just as Griffith had 
fancied it would, when she shook hands with him. 


174 


VA GABONDIA. 


“ I did not hear that you were coming” she said. 
“ How glad I am!” which was the most dangerous 
speech she could have made under the circumstances, 
since it was purely on her account that he had diplo- 
matized to obtain the invitation. 

He did not find it easy to release her hand all at 
once, and certainly he lighted up also. 

“ Will you let me tell you that it was not Miss 
MacDowlas who brought me here ? ” he said, in a low 
voice ; “ though I appreciate her kindness, as a grate- 
ful man ought. Yagabondia is desolate without you.” 

She tried to laugh, but could not ; her attempt broke 
off in the unconscious sigh, which always touched 
him, he scarcely knew why. 

“ Is it ? ” she said, looking up at him without a bit 
of the old brightness. “ Don’t tell them, Mr. Gowan, 
but the fact is I am desolate without it. I want to 
go home.” 

He felt his heart leap suddenly, and before he could 
check himself he spoke. 

“ I wish — I wish ” he said, “ that you would let 
me take you home.” And the simply sounding 
words embodied a great deal more of tender fancy 
than a careless observer would have imagined ; and 
Dolly, recognizing the thrill in his voice, was half 
startled. 

But she shook her head, and managed to smile. 

“ That is not wisdom,” she said. “ It savors of the 


VAGABONDIA. 


175 


lilies of the field. We cannot quarrel with our bread 
and butter for sentiment's sake in Yagabondia. Did 
you know that Mollie had paid me a visit this even- 
ing ? — or perhaps you saw her ; I think she went 
out as you came in.” 

“ Mollie ! ” he said, surprisedly ; and then looking 
half annoyed, or at least a trifle disturbed, he added, 
as if a sudden thought had occurred to him, “ then it 
was Mollie, Chandos spoke of.” 

“ Chandos ! ” echoed Dolly. “ Who is Chandos — 
and what did Chandos say about Mollie ? ” 

He glanced across the room to where a tall, hand- 
some man was bending over a fussy little woman in 
pink. 

“ That is Chandos,” he said ; “ and since you spoke 
of Mollie’s visit, I recollect that, as we came into the 
house, Chandos was behind me and lingered a mo- 
ment or so, and when he came to me afterward he 
asked if I had seen the face that passed us as we en- 
tered. It had roused his enthusiasm as far as it can 
be roused by anything.” 

“ It must have been Mollie,” commented Dolly, 
and she looked at the man on the opposite side of the 
room, uneasily. “ Is he a friend of yours ? ” she 
asked, after scrutinizing him for a few seconds. 

Gowan shrugged his shoulders. 

“Not a friend,” he answered, dryly. “An ac- 
quaintance. We have not much in common.” 


176 


VAGABONDIA . 


“I am glad to hear it,” was Dolly’s return. "I 
don’t like Chandos.” 

She could not have explained why she did not like 
him, but certainly she was vaguely repelled and 
could not help hoping that he would never see Mollie 
again. He was just the man to be dangerous to Mol- 
lie ; handsome, polished, ready of speech and perfect 
in manner, he was the sort of man to dazzle and flat- 
ter any ignorant, believing child. 

“ Oh ! ” she exclaimed, half aloud, “ I could not 
bear to think that he would see her again.” 

She uttered the words quite involuntarily, but 
Gowan heard them, and looked at her in some sur- 
prise, and so awakened her from her reverie. 

“ Are you speaking of Mollie ? ” he asked. 

“ Yes,” she answered, candidly, “ though I did not 
mean to speak aloud. My thoughts were only a 
mental echo of the remark I made a moment ago, — ■ 
that I don’t like Chandos. I do not like him at all, 
even at this distance, and I cannot resist feeling that 
I do not want him to see anything more of Mollie. 
We are not very discreet, we Vagabonds, but we 
must learn wisdom enough to shield Mollie.” And 
she sighed again. 

“ I understand that,” he said, almost tenderly, so 
sympathetically, in fact, that she turned toward him 
as if moved by a sudden impulse. 

“I have sometimes thought since I came here,* 


VAGABONDIA. 


177 


she said, “ that perhaps you might help me a little, if 
you would. She is so pretty, you see, and so young, 
and, through knowing so little of the world and long- 
ing to know so much, in a childish, half-dazzled way, 
is so innocently wilful that she would succumb to a 
novel influence more readily than to an old one. So 
I have thought once or twice of asking you to watch 
her a little, and guard her if — if you should ever see 
her in danger.” 

“ I can promise to do that much, at least,” he re- 
turned, smiling. 

She held out her hand impetuously, just as she 
would have held it out to Griffith, and, oh, the hazard 
of it, — the hazard of so throwing aside her mock airs 
and graces, and showing herself to him just as she 
showed herself to the man she loved, — the Dolly 
whose heart was on her lips and whose soul was in 
her eyes. 

“ Then we will make a ‘ paction’ of it,” she said. 
“ You will help me to take care of her.” 

“ For your sake,” he said, “ there are few things I 
would not do.” 

So from that time forward he fell into the habit of 
regarding unsuspecting Mollie as his own special 
charge. He was so faithful to his agreement, indeed, 
that once or twice Griffith was almost ready to con- 
sole himself with the thought that perhaps, after all, 
the child’s beauty and tractability would win its way, 
12 


178 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


and Gowan would find himself seriously touched at 
heart. Just now he could see that his manner was 
scarcely that of a lover, but there most assuredly was 
a probability that it might alter and become more 
warm and less friendly and platonic. As to Mollie 
herself, she was growing a trifle incomprehensible ; 
she paid more attention to her lovely hair than 
she had been in the habit of doing, and was even 
known to mend her gloves : she began to be more 
conscious of the dignity of her seventeen years. She 
complained less petulantly of the attentions of Phil’s 
friends, and accepted them with a better grace. The 
wise one even observed that she tolerated Brown, the 
obnoxious, and permitted him to admire her — at a 
distance. In her intercourse with Gowan she was 
capricious and had her moods. Sometimes she in- 
dulged in the weakness of tiring herself in all her small 
bravery when he was coming, and presented herself in 
the parlor beauteous and flushed and conscious, and 
was so delectably shy and sweet that she betrayed 
him into numerous trifling follies not at all consistent 
with his high position of mentor ; and then, again, she 
was obstinate, rather incomprehensible, and did not 
adorn herself at all, and, indeed, was hard enough to 
manage. 

“ You are growing very queer, Mollie/’ said Miss 
Aimee, wonderingly. 

To which sage remark Mollie retorted with a tremu- 


VAGABONDIA. 


179 


lous, sensitive flush, and most unnecessary warmth 
of manner. 

“ I 'm not queer at all. I wish you would n't bother 
so, Aimee ! ” 

That very afternoon she came into the room with 
a card in her hand, after going out to answer a sum- 
mons at the door-bell. 

“ Phil,” she said, “ a gentleman wants you. Chan- 
dos, the card says.” 

“ Chandos ! '' read Phil, rising from the comfort of 
his couch, and taking his pipe out of his mouth. 
“ Who knows Chandos ? — I don't. It must be some 
fellow on business.” 

And so it proved. He found the gentleman await- 
ing him in the next room, and in a very short time 
learned his errand. Chandos introduced himself — 
Gerald Chandos, of The Pools, Bedfordshire, who, 
hearing of Mr. Crewe through numerous friends, not 
specified, and having a fancy — quite the fancy of an 
uncultured amateur, modestly — for pictures and an 
absorbing passion for art in all its forms, had taken 
the liberty of calling, etc. It was very smoothly 
said, and Chandos, of The Pools, being an imposing 
patrician sort of individual, and free from all fopperies 
or affectations, Phil met his advances complacently 
enough. It was no unusual thing for an occasional 
patron to drop in after this manner. He had no fault 
to find with a man who, having the good fortune to 


180 


VA GABONDIA . 


possess money, had the good taste to know how to 
spend it. So he made friends with Chandos, pretty 
much as he had made friends with Gowan, — pretty 
much as he would have made friends with any other 
sufficiently amiable and well-bred visitor to his mod- 
est studio. He showed him his pictures, and talked 
art to him, and managed to spend an hour very pleas- 
antly, ending by selling him a couple of tiny spirited 
sketches, which had taken his fancy. It was when 
he was taking down these sketches from the wall that 
he heard a sort of smothered exclamation from the 
man, who stood a few feet apart from him, and, turn- 
ing to see what it meant, he saw that he had just dis- 
covered the fresh, lovely, black-hooded head, with the 
trail of autumn leaves clinging to the loose trail of 
hair, — the picture for which Mollie had sat as model. 
It was very evident that Chandos, of The Pools, was 
admiring it. 

“ Ah ! ” said he, the next minute. “ I know this 
face. There can scarcely be two faces like it.” 

Phil left his sketches and came to him, the pleasure 
he felt on the success of his creation warming him 
up. This picture, with Mollie\s face and head, was a 
great favorite of his. 

“Yes,” he said, standing opposite to it, with his 
hands in his pockets, and critical appreciation in 
his eyes. “You could not very well mistake it. 
Heads are not my exact forte, you know ; but that 


VAGABONDIA. 


181 


is Mollie to a tint and a curve, and I am rather 
proud of it.” 

Chandos regarded it steadfastly. 

“ And well you may be,” he answered. " Your sis- 
ter, I believe ? ” 

“ Mollie ! ” exclaimed Phil, stepping a trifle aside, 
to get into a better light, and speaking almost ab- 
stractedly. “ Oh, yes, to be sure ! She is my sister, 
— the youngest. There are three of them. That 
flesh tint is one of the best points.” 

And in the meantime, while this apparently trivial 
conversation was being carried on in the studio, Mol- 
lie, in the parlor, had settled herself upon a stool 
close to the fire, and, resting her chin on her hand and 
her elbow on her knee, was looking reflective. 

“ That Chandos is somebody new,” ’Toinette re- 
marked. “ I hope he has come to buy something. 
I want some gold sleeve-loops for Tod. I saw some 
beauties the other day, when I was out.” 

“But you couldn’t afford them if Phil sold two 
pictures instead of one,” said Aimee. “ There are so 
many other useful things you need.” 

“ He is n’t a stranger to me,” put in Mollie, sud- 
denly. “ I have seen him before.” 

“ Who ? ” said ’Toinette. She was thinking more 
of Tod’s gold sleeve-loops than of anything else. 

“ This Mr. Chandos,” answered Mollie, without 
looking up from the fire. “ I saw him at Brabazon 


182 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


Lodge the night I went to take Dol her dress. He 
was with Mr. Go wan, and I dropped my glove, and he 
picked it up for me. I was coming out as they were 
going in.” 

" I wonder,” said Aimee, “ whether Mr. Gowan 
goes to Brabazon Lodge often ? ” 

“ I don’t know, I ’m sure,” answered Mollie, shrug- 
ging her shoulder. “ How is one to learn ? He 
would n’t be likely to tell us. I should think, though, 
that he does. He is too fond of Dolly” — with a 
slight choke in her voice — " to stay away, if he can 
help it.” 

“ It ’s queer,” commented ’Toinette, “ how men like 
Dolly. She is n’t a beauty, I ’m sure ; and for the 
matter of that, when her hair is n’t done up right, she 
is n’t even pretty.” 

"It isn’t queer, at all,” said Mollie, rather crossly; 
" it ’s her way. She can make such a deal out of noth- 
ing, and she does n’t stand at trouble when she wants 
to make people like her. She says any one can do it, 
and it is only a question of patience; but I don’t be- 
lieve her. See how frantic Griffith is about her. He 
is more desperately in love with her to-day than he 
was at the very first, seven years ago.” 

"And she cares more for him, I’m sure,” said 
Aimee. 

Mollie’s shoulder went up again. “ She flirts with 
people enough, if she does,” she commented. 


V A GA B ONDIA . 


183 


“Ah!” returned Aimee, “that is ‘her way/ as you 
call it, again. Somehow, it seems as if she can’t help 
it. It is as natural to her as the color of her hair 
and eyes. She can’t help doing odd things and mak- 
ing speeches that rouse people and tempt them into 
liking her. She has done such things all her life, 
and sometimes I think she will do them even when 
she is an old woman ; though, of course, she will do 
them in a different way. Dolly would n’t be Dolly 
without her whimsicalness, any more than Dick there, 
in his cage, would be a canary if he did n’t twitter 
and sing.” 

“ Does she ever do such things to women ? ” asked 
Miss Mollie, shrewdly. She seemed to be in a sin- 
gular mood this afternoon. 

“ Yes,” Aimee protested, “ she does ; and what is 
more, she is not different even with children. I have 
seen her take just as much trouble to please Phemie 
and the little Bilberrys as she would take to please 
Griffith or — or Mr. Go wan. And see how fond they 
were of her. If she had cared for nothing but mas- 
culine admiration, do you think Phemie would have 
adored her as she did, and those dull children would 
have been so desolate when she left them ? No, I 
tell you. Dolly’s weakness — and it isn’t such a 
very terrible weakness, after all — lies in wanting 
everybody to like her, — men, women, and children ; 
yes, down to babies and dogs and cats. And see 


184 


VAGABONDIA. 


here, Mollie, ain’t we rather fond of her our- 
selves ? ” 

* Yes,” owned Mollie, staring at the fire, “ we are. 
Fond enough.” 

“ And is n’t she rather fond of us ? ” 

“ Yes, she is — for the matter of that,” acquiesced 
Mollie. 

“ Yes,” began ’Toinette, and then, the sound of foot- 
steps upon the staircase interrupting her, she broke 
off abruptly to listen. “ It is Phil’s visitor,” she said. 

Mollie got up from her seat, roused into a lazy 
sort of interest. 

“ I am going to look at him,” she said, and went 
to the window. 

The next minute she drew back, blushing. 

“ He saw me,” she said. “ I did n’t think he could, 
if I stood here in the corner.” 

But he had ; and more than that, in his admiration 
of her dimples and round fire-flushed cheeks, had 
smiled into her face, openly and without stint, as he 
passed. 

After tea Gowan came in. Mollie opened the door 
for him ; and Mollie, in a soft blue dress, and with 
her hair dressed to a marvel, was a vision to have 
touched any man’s fancy. She was in one of her 
sweet acquiescent moods, too, having recovered her- 
self since the afternoon; and when she led him 
into the parlor, she blushed without any reason 


VA GABONDIA . 


185 


whatever, as usual, and as a consequence looked 
enchanting. 

“ Phil has gone out,” she said. “ ’Toinette is put- 
ting Tod to bed, and Aimee is helping her ; so there 
is no one here but me.” 

Go wan sat down — in Dolly’s favorite chair. 

“ You are quite enough,” he said; “ quite enough — - 
for me.” 

She turned away, making a transparent little pre- 
tence of requiring a hand-screen from the mantel- 
piece, and, having got it, she too sat down, and fell to 
examining a wretched little daub of a picture upon 
it most minutely. 

“ This is very badly done,” she observed, irrelevantly. 
“ Dolly did it, and made it up elaborately into this 
screen because it was such a sight. It is just like 
Dolly, to make fun and joke at her own mistakes. 
She has n’t a particle of talent for drawing. She did 
this once when Griffith thought he was going to get 
into something that would bring him money enough 
to allow of their being married. She made a whole 
lot of little mats and things to put in their house 
when they got it, but Griffith did n't get the position, 
so they had to settle down again.” 

“ Good Heavens ! ” ejaculated Go wan. 

“ What is the matter ? ” she asked. 

He moved a trifle uneasily in his chair. He had 
not meant to speak aloud. 


186 


VAGABONDIA. 


“ An unintentional outburst, Mollie,” he said. “ A 
cheerful state of affairs, that.” 

“ What state of affairs ? ” she inquired. “ Oh, you 
mean Dolly's engagement. Well, of course, it has 
been a long one ; but then, you see, they like each 
other very much. Aimee was only saying this after- 
noon that they cared for each other more now than 
they did at first.” 

“Do they?" said Go wan, and for the time being 
lapsed into silence. 

“ It 's a cross-grained sort of fortune that seems to 
control us in this world, Mollie,” he said, at length. 

Mollie stared at the poor little daub on her hand- 
screen and met his philosophy indifferently enough. 

“ You ought n't to say so,” she answered. “ And 1 
don’t know anything about it.” 

He laughed — quite savagely for so amiable a young 
man. 

“I ! ” he repeated. “ I ought not to say so, ought n't 
I ? I think I ought. It is a cross-grained fortune, 
Mollie. We are always falling in love with people 
who do not care for us, or with people who care for 
some one else, or with people who are too poor to 
marry us, or — ” 

“ Speak for yourself,” said Mollie, with a vigor quito 
wonderful and new in her. “ I am not.” 

And she held her screen up between her face and 
his, so that he could not see her. She could have 


VAGABONDIA. 


187 


burst into a passionate gush of tears. It was Dolly 
he was thinking about, — it was Dolly who had the 
power to make him unhappy and sardonic, — always 
Dolly. 

“ Then you are a wise child, Mollie,” he said. “ But 
you are a very young child yet, — only seventeen, is n’t 
it ? Well, it may all come in good time.” 

“ It will not come at all,” she asserted, stubbornly. 

Dolly’s little wretch of a hand-screen was quite 
trembling in her hand, it made her so desperate to 
feel, as she did, that she was of such small consequence 
to him that he could treat her as a child, and make 
a sort of joke of his confidence. But he did not 
see it. 

“ Ah ! well, you see,” he went on, “ I thought so 
once, but it has come to me nevertheless. The fact 
is, I am crying for the moon, Mollie, as many a wiser 
and better man has done before me.” 

She did not answer, so he rose and walked once or 
twice across the room. When he came back to the 
fire, she had risen too, and was standing up, biting 
the edge of her screen, all flushed, and with a bright- 
ness in her eyes he did not understand. Poor little 
soul ! she was suffering very sharply in her childish 
way. 

He laid a hand on either of her shoulders, and spoke 
to her gently enough. 

“ Mollie,” he said, “ let us sit down together and 


188 


VA GABONDIA . 


condole with each other. You are not in a good hu- 
mor to-night, something has rasped you again ; and as 
for me, I am about as miserable, my dear, as it is pos- 
sible for a man with a few thousand a year to be.” 

She tried to answer him steadily, and, finding she 
could not, rushed into novel subterfuge. Subterfuge 
was a novelty to Mollie. 

“ Yes,” she said, lifting the most beauteous of tear- 
wet eyes to his quite eagerly. “ Yes, I am crossed, 
and — and something has vexed me. I am getting 
bad-tempered, I think. Suppose we do sit down.” 

And then when they did sit down — she on the 
hearth-rug at his feet, he in Dolly's chair again — 
she broke out upon him in a voice like a sharp little 
sob. 

“ I know what you are miserable about,” she said. 
“ You are miserable about Dolly.” 

They had never spoken about the matter openly 
before, though he had always felt that if he could 
speak openly to any one, he could to this charming 
charge of his. Such is the keenness of masculine 
penetration. And now he felt almost relieved al- 
ready. The natural craving for sympathy of some 
kind or other was to satisfy itself through the 
medium of pretty, much-tried Mollie. 

“Yes,” he answered, half desperately, half reluc- 
tantly. “ Dolly is the moon I am crying for, — or 
rather, as I might put it more poetically, ‘ the bright 


VAGABONDIA. 


189 


particular star.’ What a good little thing you are to 
guess at it so soon ! ” 

“ It did n’t need much guessing at,” she said, 
curving her innocent mouth in a piteous effort to 
smile. 

He, leaning against the round, padded back of his 
chair, sighed, and as he sighed almost forgot the poor 
child altogether, even while she spoke to him. 
Having all things else, he must still cry for this one 
other gift, and really he felt very dolorous. 

Mollie, pulling her screen to pieces, looked at him 
with a heavy yet adoring heart. She was young 
enough to be greatly moved by his physical beauty, 
and just now she could not turn away from him. 
His long-limbed, slender figure (which, while still 
graceful and lithe enough, was not a model of per- 
fection, as she fondly imagined), his pale, dark face, 
his dark eyes, even his rather impolite and uncompli- 
mentary abstraction, held fascination for her. Not 
having been greatly smiled upon by fortune, she had 
fallen to longing eagerly and fearfully for this one 
gift which had been so freely vouchsafed to Dolly, 
who had neither asked nor cared for it. Surely there 
was some cross-grained fate at work. 

She was very quiet indeed when he at length 
recollected himself and roused from his reverie. He 
looked up to find her resting her warm, rose-leaf 
colored cheek on her hand, and concentrating all her 


190 


VAGABONDIA. 


attention upon the fire again. She was not inclined 
to talk when he spoke to her, and indeed had so far 
shrunk within herself that he found it necessary to 
exert his powers to their utmost before he could 
move her to anything like interest in their usual 
topics of conversation. In fact, her reserve entailed 
the necessity of a little hazardous warmth of manner 
being exhibited on his part, and in the end a few more 
dangerous, though half-jocular, speeches were made, 
and in spite of the temporary dissatisfaction of his 
previous mood, he felt a trifle reluctant to leave the 
fire and the sweet, unwise face when the time came 
to go. 

“ Good-night,” he said to her, a few minutes before 
he went out. And then, noticing for the twentieth 
time how becoming the soft blue of her dress was 
and how picturesque she was herself even in the 
unconsciousness of her posture, he was tempted to 
try to bring that little, half-resentful glow into her 
upraised eyes again. 

“ I have often heard your sister make indiscreetly 
amiable speeches to you, Mollie,” he said. “ Did she 
ever tell you that you ought to have been born a 
sultana ? ” 

She shook her head and pouted a little. 

“ I should n’t like to be a sultana,” she said. 

“What!” he exclaimed. “Not a sultana in span- 
gled slippers and gorgeous robes ! ” 


VAGABONDIA. 


191 


“ No,” she answered, with a spice of Dolly in her 
speech. “ The slippers are great flat things that turn 
up at the toes, and the sultan might buy me for so 
much a pound, and — and I care for other things 
besides dress.” 

“ Never theless,” he returned, “you would have 
made a dazzling sultana.” 

Then he went away and left her, and she sat down 
upon her stool before the fire again and began to pull 
her hair down and let it hang in grand disorder about 
her shoulders and over her face. 

“ If I am so — so pretty,” she said slowly, to her- 
self, “ people ought to like me, and,” sagaciously, “ I 
must be pretty or he would not say so.” 

And when she went to her room it must be con- 
fessed that she crept to the glass and stared at the 
reflection of the face framed in the abundant, falling 
hair, until Aimee, wondering at her quietness, raised 
her head from her pillow, and, seeing her, called her 
to her senses. 

“ Mollie,” she said, in her quietest way, “ you look 
very nice, my dear, and very picturesque, and I don’t 
wonder at your admiring yourself ; but if you stand 
there much longer in your bare feet you will have 
influenza, and then you will have to wear a flannel 
round your throat, and your nose will be red, and you 
won’t derive much satisfaction from your looking* 
glass for a week to come.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


IN WHICH WE ARE UNORTHODOX. 

“ Ql OMETHING,” announced Phil, painting away 
industriously at his picture, — “ something is 
up with Grif. Can any of you explain what it is ? ” 

Mollie, resting her elbows on the window-ledge, 
turned her head over her shoulder ; ’Toinette, tying 
Tod’s sleeves with red ribbon, looked up ; Aimee went 
on with her sewing, the two little straight lines 
making themselves visible on her forehead between 
her eyebrows. The fact of something being “ up ” 
with any one of their circle was enough to create a 
wondering interest. 

“ There is no denying,” Phil proceeded, “ that he is 
changed somehow or other. He is not the same 
fellow that he was a few months ago, — before Dolly 
went away.” 

“ It is Dolly he is bothering about,” said Mollie, 
concisely. 

Then Aimee was roused. 

“ I wish they were married,” she said. “ I wish 
they were married and — safe ! ” 


VAGABONDIA. 


193 


“ Safe ! ” put in Mrs. Phil. “ That is a queer thing 
to say. They are not in any danger, let us devoutly 
hope.” 

The two wrinkles deepened, and the wise one 
sighed. 

“ I hope not,” she answered, bending her small, 
round, anxious face over her sewing, and attacking it 
vigorously. 

“They never struck me, you know,” returned 
Mrs. Phil, “ as being a particularly dangerous couple, 
though now I think of it I do remember that it has 
once or twice occurred to me that Griffith has been 
rather stupid lately.” 

“It has occurred to me,” remarked Phil, dryly, 
“ that he has taken a most unaccountable dislike to 
Gowan.” 

Mollie turned round to her window again. 

“Not to put it too strongly,” continued the head of 
the family, “ he hates him like the deuce.” 

And he was not far wrong in making the assertion. 
The time had been coming for some time when the 
course of this unimposing story of true love was no 
longer to run smooth, and in these days Griffith was 
in a dangerous frame of mind. Now and then he 
heard of Gowan dropping in to spend a few hours at 
Brabazon Lodge, and now and then he heard of his 
good fortune in having found in Miss MacDowlas a 
positive champion. He was even a favorite with her, 
13 


194 


VAGABONDIA. 


just as he was a favorite with many other people. 
Griffith did not visit Brabazon Lodge himself, he 
had given that up long ago, indeed had only once 
paid his respects to his relative since her arrival in 
London. That one visit, short and ceremonious as 
it was, had been enough for him. Like many esti- 
mable ladies, Miss MacDowlas had prejudices of her 
own which were hard to remove, and appearances 
had been against her nephew. 

“ If he is living a respectable life, and so engaged 
in a respectable profession, my dear,” commented 
Dolly’s proprietress, in one of her after conversations 
on the subject, <f why does he look shabby and out 
at elbows ? It is my opinion that he is a very dis- 
reputable young man.” 

“ She thinks,” wrote Dolly to the victim, “ that you 
waste your substance in riotous living.” And it was 
such an exquisite satire on the true state of affairs, 
that even Griffith forgot his woes for the moment, 
and laughed when he read the letter. 

Dolly herself was not prone to complain of Miss 
MacDowlas. She was not so bad as she looked, after 
all. She was obstinate and rigid enough on some 
points, but she had her fairer side, and Dolly found 
it. In a fashion of her own Miss MacDowlas was 
rather fond of her companion. A girl who was 
shrewd, industrious, and often amusing, was not to 
be despised in her opinion ; so she showed her fair 


VAGABONDIA. 


195 


young handmaiden a certain amount of respect. 
She had engaged companions before, who being en- 
tertaining were not trustworthy, or being trustworthy 
were insufferably dull. She could trust Dolly with 
the most onerous of her domestic or social charges, 
she found, and there was no fear of her small change 
disappearing or her visitors being bored. So the 
position of that “ young person ” became an assured 
and decently comfortable one. 

But, day by day, Griffith was drifting nearer and 
nearer the old shoals of difficulty. He rasped him- 
self with miserable imaginings, and was often unjust 
even toward Dolly. Hers was the brighter side of 
the matter, he told himself. 

She was sure to find friends, — she always did, 
these people would make a sort of favorite of her, and 
she would be pleased because she was so popular 
among them. He could not bear the thought of her 
ephemeral happiness over trifles sometimes. He 
even fell so low as that at his worst moments, though 
to his credit, be it spoken, he was always thoroughly 
ashamed of himself afterward. There were times, 
too, when he half resented her little jokes at their 
poverty, and answered them bitterly when he wrote 
his replies to her letters. His chief consolation he 
found in Aimee, and the sage of the family found her 
hands fuller than ever. Quiet little body as she was, 
she was far-sighted enough to see danger in the 


196 


V A GABONDIA . 


distance, and surely she did her best to alter its 
course. 

“ If you are not cooler,” she would say, “ you will 
work yourself into such a fever of unhappiness, that 
you will be doing something you will regret.” 

“ That is what I am afraid of,” he would sometimes 
burst forth ; “ but you must admit, Aimee, that it is 
a pretty hard case.” 

“ Yes,” confessed the young oracle, “ I will admit 
that, but being unreasonable won’t make it any 
easier.” 

And then the fine little lines would show them- 
selves, and she would set herself industriously to the 
task of administering comfort and practical advice, 
and she never failed to cheer him a little, however 
temporarily. 

And she did not fail Dolly, either. Sage axioms 
and praiseworthy counsel reached Brabazon Lodge in 
divers small envelopes, addressed to Miss Crewe, and 
invariably beginning, “ My dearest Dolly ; ” and more 
than once difficulty had been averted, and Dolly’s 
heart warmed again toward her lover, when she had 
been half inclined to rebel and exhibit some slight 
sharpness of temper. Only a few days after the 
conversation with which the present chapter opens 
occurred, one of these modestly powerful missives was 
forwarded, and that evening Griffith met with an 
agreeable surprise. Chance had taken him into the 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


197 


vicinity of Miss MacDowlas’s establishment, and as 
he walked down the deserted road in a somewhat 
gloomy frame of mind, he became conscious suddenly 
of the sound of small, light feet, running rapidly 
down the footpath behind him. 

“ Griffith ! ” cried a clear, softly pitched voice, 
“ Griffith, wait for me” 

And, turning, he saw in the dusk of the winter day 
a little figure almost flying toward him, and in a few 
seconds more Dolly was standing by him, laughing 
and panting, and holding to his arm with both 
hands. 

"I thought I should never catch you,” she said. 
“ You never walked so fast in your life, I believe, you 
stupid old fellow. I could n’t call out loud, though 
it is a quiet place, and so I had to begin to run. 
Goodness ! what would Lady Augusta have said if she 
had seen me flying after you ! ” 

And then, stopping all at once, she looked up at 
him with a wicked little air of saucy daring. 

“ Don’t you want to kiss me?” she said. "You 
may, if you will endeavor to effect it with despatch 
before somebody comes.” 

She was obliged to resign herself to her fate then. 
For nearly two minutes she found herself rendered 
almost invisible, and neither of them spoke. Then 
half released, she lifted her face to look at him, 
and there were tears on her eyelashes, and in her 


198 


VAGABONDIA. 


voice, too, though she was trying very hard to 
smile. 

“ Poor old fellow,” she half whispered. “ Has it 
seemed long since you kissed me last ? ” 

He caught her to his breast again in his old, impet- 
uous fashion. 

“ Long ! ” he groaned. “ It has seemed so long that 
there have been times when it has almost driven me 
mad. 0 Dolly ! Dolly ! ” 

She let him crush her in his arms and kiss her 
again, and she nestled against his shoulder for a 
minute, and, putting her warm little gloved hand up 
to his face, gave it a tiny, loving squeeze. But of 
course that could not last long. Miss Macdowlas’s 
companion might be kissed in the dusk two or three 
times, but, genteelly sequestered as was the road 
leading to Brabazon Lodge, some stray footman or 
housemaid might appear on the scene, from some of 
the neighboring establishments, at any moment, so 
she was obliged to draw herself away at last. 

“ There ! ” she said, “ you must let me take your 
arm and walk on now, and you must tell me all about 
things. I have a few minutes to spare, and I have so 
wanted you,” heaving a weary little sigh, and holding 
his arm very tightly indeed. 

u Dolly,” he asked, abruptly, “ are you sure of that ? ” 

The other small hand clasped itself across his 
sleeve in an instant. 


VAGABONDIA. 


199 


“ Sure ? ” she answered. “ Sure that I have wanted 
you ? I have been nearly dying for you ! ” with some 
affectionate extravagance. 

“ Are you sure,” he put it to her, “ quite sure that 
you have not sometimes forgotten me for an hour 
or so?” 

“ No,” she answered, indignantly, “ not for a single 
second ; ” which was a wide assertion. 

“ Not,” he prompted her, somewhat bitterly, “ when 
the MacDowlas gives dinner-parties, and you find 
yourself a prominent feature, ‘ young person,’ as you 
are ? Not when you wear the white merino, and 
‘ heavy swells ’ admire you openly ? ” 

“No,” shaking her head in stout denial of the 
imputation. “ Never. I think about you from morn- 
ing until night ; and the fact is,” in a charming burst 
of candor, “ I actually wake in the night and think 
about you. There ! are you satisfied now ? ” 

It would have been impossible to remain al- 
together unconsoled and unmoved under such cir- 
cumstances, but he could not help trying her 
again. 

“ Dolly,” he said, “ does Gowan never make you 
forget me ? ” 

Then she saw what he meant, and flushed up to 
her forehead, drawing her hand away and speaking 
hotly. 

“ Oh ! ” she said, “ it is that, is it ? ” 


200 


VAGABONDIA. 


“ Yes,” he answered her, " it is that.” 

Then they stopped in their walk, and each looked 
at the other, — Griffith at Dolly, with a pale face and 
much of desperate, passionate appeal in his eyes ; 
Dolly at Griffith, with her small head thrown back in 
sudden defiance. 

“ I am making you angry and rousing you, Dolly,” 
he said ; “ but I cannot help it. There is scarcely a 
week passes in which I do not hear that he — that 
fellow — has managed to see you in one way or 
another. He can always see you,” savagely. “ I 
don't see you once a month.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Dolly, with cruel deliberation, “ this is 
what Aimee meant when she told me to be careful, 
and think twice before I did things. I see now.” 

I have never yet painted Dolly Crewe as being a 
young person of angelic temperament. I have owned 
that she flirted and had a temper in spite of her 
Yagabondian good spirits, good-nature, and popu- 
larity ; so my readers will not be surprised at her 
resenting rather sharply what she considered as 
being her lover’s lack of faith. 

“ I think,” she proceeded, opening her eyes wide 
and addressing him with her grandest air, — “ I think 
I will walk the rest of my way alone, if you 
please.” 

It was very absurd and very tragical in a small 
way, of course, and assuredly she ought to have 


V A GABON DI A . 


201 


known better, and perhaps she did know better, 
but just now she was very fierce and very sharply 
disappointed. She positively turned away as if to 
leave him, but he caught hold of her arm and held 
her. 

“ Dolly,” he cried, huskily, “you are not going 
away in that fashion. We never parted so in our 
lives.” 

She half relented, — not quite, but nearly, so very 
nearly that she did not try very hard to get away. 
It was Griffith, after all, who was trying her patience 
— if Go wan or any other man on earth had dared to 
imply a doubt in her, she would have routed him 
magnificently in two minutes ; but Griffith — ah, 
well, Griffith was different. 

“ Whose fault is it ? ” she asked, breaking down 
ignominiously. “Who is to blame? I never ask 
you if other people make you forget me. I wanted 
to — to see you so much that I — I ran madly after 
you for a quarter of a mile, at the risk of being looked 
upon as a lunatic by any one who might have 
chanced to see me. But you don’t care for that. 
I had better have bowed to you and passed on if we 
had met. Let me go ! ” 

“ No,” said Griffith, “ you shall not go. God knows 
if I could keep you, you should never leave my arms 
again.” 

“ You would tire of me in a week, if I belonged to 


202 


VAGABONDIA. 


you in real earnest,” she said, not trying to get away 
at all now, however. 

“ Tire of you ! ” he exclaimed, in a shaken voice. 
“ Of you ! ” And all at once he drew her round so 
that the light of the nearest lamp could fall on her 
face. “Look here!” he whispered, sharply; “Dolly, 
I swear to you, that if there lives a man on earth 
base and heartless enough to rob me of you, I 
will kill him as sure as I breathe the breath of 
life!” 

She had seen him impassioned enough often before, 
but she had never seen him in as wild a mood as he 
was when he uttered these words. She was^so fright- 
ened that she broke into a little cry, and put her 
hand up to his lips. 

“Griffith!” she said, “Grif! — dear old fellow. 
You don't know what you are saying. Oh! don't 
— don't ! ” 

Her horror brought him to his senses again ; but he 
had terrified her so that she was trembling all over, 
and clung to him nervously when he tried to console 
her. 

“ It is n't like you to speak in such a way,” she 
faltered, in the midst of her tears. “ Oh, how dread- 
fully wrong things must be getting, to make you so 
cruel!” 

It took so long a time to reassure and restore her 
to her calmness, that he repented his rashness a dozen 


VAGABONDIA . 


203 


times. But he managed to comfort her at length, 
though to the last she was tearful and dejected, and 
her voice was broken with soft, sorrowful little catch- 
ings of the breath. 

“ Don’t let us talk about Ralph Go wan,” she 
pleaded, when he had persuaded her to walk on with 
him again. “ Let us talk about ourselves, — we are 
always safe when we talk about ourselves,” with an 
innocent, mournful smile. 

And so they talked about themselves. He would 
have talked of anything on earth to please her then. 
Talking of themselves, of course, implied talking non- 
sense, — affectionate, sympathetic nonsense, but still 
nonsense ; and so, for a while, they strolled on to- 
gether, and were as tenderly foolish and disconnected 
as two people could possibly be. 

But, in spite of her resolution to avoid the subject, 
Dolly could not help drifting back to Ralph Gowan. 
“ Griffith,” she said, plaintively, “ you are very jealous 
of him.” 

“ I know that,” he answered. 

“ But don’t you know ,” in desperate appeal, “ that 
there is n’t the slightest need for you to be jealous of 
anybody ? ” 

"I know,” he returned, dejectedly, “that I am a 
very wretched fellow sometimes.” 

“ Oh, dear ! ” sighed Dolly. 

“ I know,” he went on, “ that seven years is a long 


204 


VA GABONDIA . 


probation, and that the prospect of another seven, or 
another two, for the matter of that, would drive me 
mad. I know I am growing envious and distrustful ; 
I know that there are times when I hate that fellow 
so savagely that I am ashamed of myself. Dolly, 
what has he ever done that he should saunter on the 
sunny side, clad in purple and fine linen all his life ? 
The money he throws away in a year would furnish 
the house at Putney/ * 

“ Oh, dear ! ” burst forth Dolly. " You are going 
wrong. It is all because 1 am not there to take 
care of you, too. Those are not the sentiments of 
Yagabondia, Grif.” 

“ No,” dryly ; “ they are of the earth, earthy.” 

Dolly shook her head dolefully. 

“ Yes,” she acquiesced ; “ and they are a bit shabby, 
too. You are going down, Grif. You never used to 
be shabby. None of us were ever exactly that, though 
we used to grumble sometimes. We used to grumble, 
not because other people had things, but because we 
had n’t them.” 

“ I am getting hardened, I suppose,” bitterly. “ And 
it is hardly to be wondered at.” 

“ Hardened ! ” She stopped him that moment, and 
stood before him, holding his arm and looking up at 
him. “ Hardened ! ” she repeated. “ Grif, if you say 
that again, I will never forgive you. What is the 
good of our love for each other if it won’t keep our 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


205 


hearts soft ? When we get hardened we shall love 
each other no longer. What have we told each other 
all these years ? Have n’t we said that so long as we 
had one another we could bear anything, and not envy 
other people ? It was n’t all talk and sentiment, was 
it ? It was n’t on my part, Grif. I meant it then, 
and I mean it now, though I know there are many 
good, kind-hearted people in the world who would 
not understand it, and would say I was talking 
unpractical rubbish, if they heard me. Hardened ! 
Grif, while you have me, and I have you, and 
there is nothing on our two consciences ? Why, it 
sounds,” — with another most dubious shake of her 
small head, — “ it sounds as if you would n’t care 
about the house at Putney!” 

He was conquered, of course ; before she had spoken 
a dozen words he had been conquered ; but this figure 
of his not caring for the house at Putney broke him 
utterly. He did not look very hardened when he 
answered her. 

“ Dolly,” he said, “ you are an angel ! I have told 
you so before, and it may be a proof of the barrenness 
of my resources to tell you so again, but it is true. 
God forgive me, my precious ! I should like to see 
the man whose heart could harden while such a 
woman loved him.” 

It was a pretty sight to see her put her hands on 
his shoulders, and stand on tiptoe to kiss him, in her 


206 


VAGABOND1A. 


honest, earnest way, without waiting for him to ask 
her. 

“ Ah ! ” she said, “ I knew it wasn’t true,” and then, 
still letting her hands rest on his shoulders, she burst 
forth in her tender, impulsive way again. “ Grif,” 
she said, “ I don’t think I am very wise, and I know 
I am not very thoughtful. I do things often that it 
would be better to leave undone, — I am fond of 
making the Philistines admire me, and I sometimes 
tease you ; but, dear old fellow, right deep down at 
the bottom of my heart,” faltering slightly, “ I do — 
do want to be a good woman ; and there is never a 
night passes — though I never told you so before — 
that I do not pray to God to let me help you and let 
you help me to be tender and faithful and true.” 

It was the old story, — love was king. Wisdom to 
the winds ! Practicality to the corners of the earth ! 
Prudence, power, and grandeur, hide your diminished 
heads ! Here were two people who cared nothing for 
you, and who flung you aside without a fear as they 
stood together under the trees in the raw evening 
air, — one a penniless little hired entertainer of elderly 
ladies, the other an equally impecunious bondsman 
in a dingy office. 

They were quite happy, — even happy when time 
warned them that they must bid each other good- 
night. They walked together to the gates of Braba* 
zon Lodge, and parted in a state of bliss. 


V A GABONDIA . 


207 


Good-night,” said Dolly. “ Be good, — as some- 
body wise once said, — ‘ Be good, and you will be 
happy/ ” 

“ Good-night,” answered Griffith ; “ but might n’t he 
have put it the other way, Dolly, f Be happy, and you 
will be good — because you can’t help it ’ ? ” 

He had his hand on her shoulder, this time, and as 
she laughed she put her face down so that her soft, 
warm cheek nestled against it. 

“But he didn’t put it that way,” she objected. 
“And we must take wisdom as it comes. There ! I 
must go now,” rather in a hurry. “ Some one is com- 
ing — see ! ” 

“ Confound it ! ” he observed, devoutly. “ Who 
is it?” 

“ I don’t know,” answered Dolly ; “ but you must 
let me go. Good-night, again.” 

He released her, and she ran in through the gate, 
and up the gravel walk, and so he was left to turn 
away and pass the intruder with an appearance of 
nonchalance. And pass him he did, though whether 
with successful indifference or not, one can hardly 
say ; but in passing him he looked up, and in looking 
up he recognized Balph Gowan. 

“ Going to see her,” he said, to himself, just as poor 
Mollie had said the same thing, and just with the 
same heartburn. “ The dev — But, no,” he broke off 
sharply, “ I won’t begin again. It is as she says, — 


208 


VAGABONDIA, 


the blessed little darling ! — it is shabby to be down 
on him because he has the best of it ” And he went 
on his way, not rejoicing, it is true, but still trying 
to crush down a by no means unnatural feeling of 
rebellion. 


CHAPTER X. 


IN SLIPPERY PLACES. 


HE wise one sat at the window and looked out. 



-L The view commanded by Bloomsbury Place 
was not a specially imposing or attractive one. Four 
or five tall, dingy houses with solitary scrubby shrubs 
in their small front slips of low-spirited looking gar- 
dens, four or five dingy and tall houses without the 
scrubby shrubs in their small front slips of low- 
spirited looking gardens, rows of Venetian blinds of 
various shades, and one or two lamp-posts, — not 
much to enliven the prospect. 

The inhabitants of the houses in Bloomsbury Place 
were not prone to sitting at their front windows, 
accordingly ; but this special afternoon, the weather 
being foggy, Aimee finding herself alone in the par- 
lor, had left the fire just to look at this same fog, 
though it was by no means a novelty. The house 
was very quiet. ’Toinette was out, and so was Mol- 
lie, and Tod was asleep, lying upon a collection of 
cushions on the hearth-rug, with two fingers in his 


14 


210 


VAGABONDIA 


mouth, his round baby face turned up luxuriously 
to catch the warmth. 

The wise one was waiting for Mollie, who had gone 
out a few hours before to execute divers commissions 
of a domestic nature. 

“ She might have been back in half the time,” mur- 
mured the family sage, who sat on the carpet, flatten- 
ing her small features against the glass. “ She might 
have done what she has to do in less than half the 
time, but I knew how it would be when she went 
out. She is looking in at the shop windows and 
wishing for things. I wish she would n’t. People 
stare at her so, and I don’t wonder. I am sure I 
cannot help watching her myself, sometimes. She 
grows prettier every day of her life, and she is begin- 
ning to know that she does, too.” 

Five minutes after this the small face was drawn 
away from the window-pane with a sigh of relief. 

“ There she is now. What a time she has been ! 
Who is with her, I wonder ? I cannot see whether 
it is Phil or Mr. Gowan, it is getting so dark. It 
must be Mr. Gowan. ’Toinette would be with them 
if it was Phil.” 

“Why, Mollie,” she exclaimed, when the door 
opened, “ I saw somebody with you, and I thought it 
was Mr. Gowan. Why did n’t he come in ? Don’t 
waken Tod.” 

Mollie came in rather hurriedly, and going to the 


VAGABONDIA. 


211 


fire knelt down before it, holding out her hands to 
warm them. Her cheeks were brilliant with color 
and her eyes were bright ; altogether, she looked a 
trifle excited. 

“ It was n’t Mr. Gowan,” she answered. “ Ugh ! 
how cold it is, — not frosty, you know, but that raw 
sort of cold, Aimee. I would rather have the frost 
myself, would n’t you ? ” 

But Aimee was not thinking of the weather. 

“ Not Mr. Gowan ! ” she ejaculated. “ Who was it, 
then ? ” 

Mollie crept nearer to the fire and gave another 
little shudder. 

"It was — somebody else,” she returned, with a 
triumphant little half-laugh. “ Guess who ! ” 

" Who ! ” repeated Aimee. “ Somebody else ! It 
was not any one I know.” 

“ It was somebody Phil knows.” 

The wise one arose and came to the fire herself. 

“ It was some one taller than Brown ! ” 

“ Brown !” echoed Mollie, with an air of supreme 
contempt. “He is twice as tall. Brown is only 
about five feet high, and he wears an overcoat ten 
times too big for him, and it flaps — yes, it flaps 
about his odious little heels. I should think it 
wasn’t Brown. It was a gentleman.” 

The wise one regarded her pretty, scornful face 
dubiously. 


212 


VAGABONDIA. 


“ Brown is n't so bad as all that implies, Mollie,'' 
she said. “ His coat is the worst part of him. But 
if it was n't Brown and it was n't Mr. Gowan, who 
was it ? " 

Mollie laughed and shrugged her shoulders again, 
and then looked up at her small inquisitor charm- 
ingly defiant. 

“ It was — Mr. Chandos ! " she confessed. 

Aimee gazed at her for a moment in blank amaze- 
ment. 

“ But," she objected, “ you don't know him any 
more than I do. You have only seen him once 
through the window, and you have never been intro- 
duced to him." 

“I have seen him twice,” said Mollie. “ Don’t 
you recollect my telling you that he picked up my 
glove for me the night I carried Dolly's dress to Bra- 
bazon Lodge, and," faltering a little and dropping her 
eyes, “ he introduced himself to me. He met me in 
town. I was passing through the Arcade, and he 
stopped to ask about Phil. He apologized, of course, 
you know, for doing it, but he said he was very 
anxious to know when Phil would be at home, and 
— and perhaps I would be so kind as to tell him. 
He wants to see him about a picture. And — then, 
you know, somehow or other, he said something else, 
and — and I answered him — and he walked to the 
gate with me.” 


VAGABONDIA . 


213 


“ He took a great liberty,” said Aimee. “ And it 
was very imprudent in you to let him come. I don’t 
know what you could be thinking of. The idea of 
picking up people in the street like that, Mollie ; you 
must be crazy.” 

“ I could n’t help it,” returned Mollie, not appear- 
ing at all disturbed. “ He knows Phil and he knows 
Dolly — a little. And he is very nice. He wants 
to know us all. And he says Mr. Gowan is one of 
his best friends. I liked him myself.” 

“ I dare say you did,” despairingly. “ You are 
such a child. You would like the man in the moon 
or a Kaffre chief — ” 

“ That is not true,” interposed the delinquent. “ I 
don’t know about the man in the moon. He might 
be well enough — at any rate, he would be travelled 
and a novelty, but Kaffre chiefs are odious. Don’t 
you remember those we saw last winter ? ” 

“ Mollie,” said Aimee, “ you are only jesting because 
you are ashamed of yourself. You know you were 
wrong to let that man come home with you.” 

Then Mollie hung her head and made a lovely 
rebellious move. 

“ I don’t care,” she said ; “ if it was n’t exactly cor- 
rect, it was nice. But that is always the way,” indig- 
nantly, “nice things are always improper.” 

Here was a defection for you. The oracle quite 
shuddered in her discreet disapproval. 


214 


V A GABONDIA. 


“ If you go on in that way/' she said, “ you will be 
ending by saying that improper things are always 
nice.” 

“ Never mind how I end,” observed the prisoner 
at the bar. “ You have ended by wakening Tod ; ” 
which remark terminated the conversation somewhat 
abruptly. 

A day or so later came Chandos — upon business, 
so he said, but he remained much longer than his 
errand rendered necessary, and by some chance or 
other it came to pass that Phil brought him into the 
parlor, and introduced him to their small circle, in his 
usual amiable, informal manner. Then he was to be 
seen fairly, and prepossessing enough he was. Mol- 
lie, sitting in her corner in the blue dress, and looking 
exquisite and guileless, was very demurely silent at 
first ; but in due time Aimee began to see that she 
was being gradually drawn out, and at last the draw- 
ing out was such a success, subtle as it was, that she 
became quite a prominent feature in the party, and 
made so many brilliant speeches without blushing, 
that the family eyes began to be opened to the fact 
that she was really a trifle older than she had been 
a few years ago, after all. The idea had suggested 
itself to them faintly on one or two occasions of late, 
and they were just beginning to grasp it, though they 
were fully as much startled as they would have been 
if Tod had unexpectedly roused himself from his 


VAGABONDIA. 


215 


infantile slumbers, and mildly but firmly announced 
bis intention of studying for the ministry or entering 
a political contest. 

Aimee was dumbfounded. She had not expected 
this. She was going to have her hands full, it was 
plain. She scarcely wondered now at her discovery 
of two evenings before. And then she glanced slyly 
across the room again, and took it all in once more, — 
Mollie, bewitching in all the novelty of her small 
effort at coquetry ; Chandos, leading her on, and 
evidently enjoying the task he had set himself in- 
tensely. 

It was quite a new Mollie who was left to them 
after their visitor was gone. There was a touch of 
triumph and excitement in the pretty flushed face, 
and a ghost of defiance in the brown eyes. She was 
not quite sure that young Dame Prudence would not 
improve the occasion with a short homily. 

So she was a trifle restless. First she stood at the 
window humming an air, then she came to the table 
and turned over a few sketches, then she knelt down 
on pretence of teasing Tod. 

But impulse was too much for her. She forgot 
Tod in a few minutes and fell into a sitting position, 
folding her hands idly on the blue garment. 

“ I knew he would come/’ she said, abstractedly 
Then Dame Prudence addressed her. 

“ Did you ? ” she remarked. “ How did you V' 


216 


VAGABONDIA. 


She started and blushed up to her ears. 

“ How ? ” she repeated. “ Oh, I knew ! ” 

“ Perhaps he told you he would/’ put in Dame P. 

'Did he?” 

“Aimee,” was the rather irrelevant reply, rather 
suddenly made, “ do you like him ? ” 

“ I never judge people,” primly enunciated, “ upon 
first acquaintance. First impressions are rarely to 
be relied upon.” 

“ That ’s a nice speech,” in her elder sister’s most 
shockingly flippant manner, “ and it sounds well, but 
I have heard it before — thousands of times. Peo- 
ple always say it when they want to be specially 
disagreeable, and would like to cool you down. 
There is the least grain of Lady Augusta in you, 
Aimee.” 

“ And considering that Lady Augusta is the most 
unpleasant person we know, that is a nice speech,” 
returned the oracle. 

“ Oh, well, I only said c a grain/ and a grain is not 
much.” 

i “ It is quite enough.” 

"Well,” amiably, “ suppose we say half a grain.” 

“ Suppose we say you are talking nonsense.” 

Mollie’s air was Dolly’s own as she answered her, 
— people always said she was like Dolly, despite the 
fact that Dolly was not a beauty at all. 

“ There may be something in that/’ she said 


VAGABONDIA. 


217 


“ Suppose we admit it and return to the subject. 
Do you think he is nice, Aimee ? ” 

“ Do you ? ” 

“ Yes, I do,” but without getting rose-colored this 
time. 

Aimee looked at her calmly, but with some quiet 
scrutiny in her glance. 

“ As nice,” she put it to her, — “ as nice as Ralph 
Gowan ? ” 

She grew rose-colored then in an instant up to her 
ears again and over them, and she turned her face 
aside and plucked at the hearth-rug with nervous 
fingers. 

“ Well ? ” suggested Aimee. 

“ He is as handsome and — as tall, and he dresses 
as well.” 

“ Do you like him as well ? ” said Aimee. 

“ Ye-es — no. I have not known him long enough 
to tell you.” 

“ Well,” returned Aimee, “ let me tell you. As I 
said before, I do not think it wise to judge people 
from first impressions, but this I do know, I don’t 
like him as I like Mr. Gowan, and I never shall. 
He is not to be relied upon, that Gerald Chandos ; I 
saw it in his eyes.” 

And she set her chin upon her hand, and her small, 
round, fair face covered itself all at once with an 
anxious cloud. 


218 


VAGABONDIA. 


She kept a quiet watch upon Mollie after this, and 
in the weeks that followed she was puzzled, and not 
only puzzled, but baffled outright many a time. 
This first visit of Mr. Gerald Chandos was not his 
last. His business brought him again and again, and 
when the time came that he had no pretence of busi- 
ness, he was on sufficiently familiar terms with them 
all to make calls of pleasure. So he did just as Ralph 
Gowan had done, slipped into his groove of friend 
and acquaintance unobtrusively, and was made wel- 
come as other people were, — just as any sufficiently 
harmless individual would have been under the same 
circumstances. There was no dragon of high renown 
to create social disturbances in Vagabondia. 

“As long as a man behaves himself, where’s the 
odds?” said Phil; and no one ever disagreed with 
him. 

But Mr. Gerald Chandos had not been to the house 
more than three times before Aimee found cause to 
wonder. She discovered that Ralph Gowan was not 
so enthusiastically attached to him, after all ; and 
furthermore she had her reasons for thinking that 
Gowan was rather disturbed at his advent, and would 
have preferred that he had not been adopted so com- 
placently. 

“ If Dolly was at home,” she said to herself, “ I 
should be inclined to fancy he was a trifle jealous ; 
and if he cared just a little more for Mollie, I might 


VAGABONDIA. 


219 


think he was jealous ; but Dolly is away, and though 
he is fond of Mollie, and thinks her pretty, he does n’t 
care for her in that way exactly, so there must be 
some other reason. He is not the sort of person to 
have likes or dislikes without reason.” 

In her own sage style she approved of Ralph 
Go wan just as she approved of Griffith. And then, 
as I have said, Mollie puzzled her. It was astonish- 
ing how the child altered, and how she began to 
bloom out, and adopt independent, womanly airs and 
graces. She took a new and important position in 
the household. From her post of observation the 
wise one found herself looking on with a smile some- 
times, there was such a freshness in her style of 
enacting the rdle of beauty. She struck Phil’s friends 
dumb now and then with her conscious power, and 
the unhappy Brown suffered himself to be led captive 
without a struggle. 

“ Her ’prentice han’ she tried on Brown,” Dolly had 
said, months before, in a wretched attempt at parody ; 
and certainly the tortures of Brown were prolonged 
and varied. But it was her manner toward Chandos 
that puzzled Aimee. Perhaps she was a trifle proud 
of his evident admiration ; at all events, she seemed 
far from averse to it, and the incomprehensible part 
of the affair was that sometimes she allowed him to 
rival even Ralph Gowan. 

“ And yet,” commented Aimee, “ she likes Ralph 


220 


VAGABONDIA. 


Gowan better. She never can help blushing and 
looking conscious when he comes or when he talks to 
her, and she is as cool as Dolly when she finds her- 
self with Chandos. It is very odd.” 

It was not so easy to manage her as it used to be, 
Ralph Gowan discovered. She was growing capri- 
cious and fanciful, and ready to take offence. If they 
were left alone together, she would change her mood 
every two minutes. Sometimes she would submit to 
his old jesting, gallant speeches quite humbly and 
shyly for a while, and then she would flame out all at 
once in anger, half a woman’s and half a child’s. He 
was inclined to fancy now and then that she had 
never forgiven him for his first interference on the 
subject of Gerald Chandos, for at the early part of the 
acquaintance he did interfere, as he had promised 
Dolly he would. 

“ I am not glad to see that fellow here, Mollie,” he 
had said, the first night he met him at the house. 

She stood erect before him, with her white throat 
straight, and a spark in her eyes. 

“ What fellow ? ” she asked. 

“ Chandos,” he answered, coolly and briefly. 

“ Oh ! ” she returned. “ How is it that when one 
man dislikes another he always speaks of him as 
4 that fellow ’ ? I know some one who always refers 
to you as ‘ that fellow.’ ” 

“ Do you ? ” dryly, as before. He knew very well 
whom she meant. 


V A GABONDIA . 


221 


“ I am glad to see f that fellow ’ here/’ she went on. 
"He is a gentleman, and he isn’t stupid. No one 
else comes here who is so amusing. I am tired of 
Brown & Company.” 

"Ah!” he answered, biting his lip. He felt the 
rebuff, if it was only Mollie who gave it. “ Very well 
then, if you are tired of Brown & Company, and 
would prefer to enter into partnership with Chandos, 
it is none of my business, I suppose. I will give you 
one warning, however, because I promised your sister 
to take care of you.” Her skin flamed scarlet at 
that. “ That fellow is not a gentleman exactly, and 
he is a very dangerous acquaintance for any woman 
to make.” 

“ He is a friend of yours,” she interrupted. 

“ That is a natural mistake on your part,” he re- 
plied, — “ natural, but still a mistake. He is not a 
friend of mine. As I before observed, he is not 
exactly a gentleman — not to put too fine a point 
upon it — from a moral point of view. We won’t 
discuss the matter further.” 

They had parted bad friends that night. Mollie 
was restive under his cool decisiveness for various 
reasons ; he was irritated because he felt he had failed, 
and had lost ground instead of gaining it. So some- 
times since, he had fancied that she had not wholly 
forgiven him, and yet there were times when she was 
bo softly submissive that he felt himself in some 


222 


V A GABONDIA . 


slight danger of being as much touched and as fairly 
bewitched as he was when Dolly turned her attention 
to him. Still she was frequently far from amiable, 
and upon more than one occasion he found her not 
precisely as polite as she might have been. 

“ You are not as amiable, Mollie,” he said to her 
once, “as you used to be. We were very good 
friends in the old days. I suppose you are outgrow- 
ing me. I should be afraid to offer you a bunch of 
camellias now as a token of my affection.” 

He smiled down at her indolently as he said it, 
and before he had finished he began to feel uncom- 
fortable. Her eyelids drooped and her head drooped, 
and she looked sweetly troubled. 

“ I know I am not as good as I used to be,” she 
admitted. “I know it without being told. Some- 
times,” very suddenly, “ I think I must be growing 
awfully wicked.” 

“Well,” he commented, “at least one must admit 
that is a promising state of mind, and augurs well for 
future repentance.” 

She shook her head. 

“No, it doesn't,” she answered him, “and that is 
the bad side of it. I am getting worse every day of 
my life.” 

“ Is it safe,” he suggested, cynically, — “ is it safe 
for an innocent individual to cultivate your acquaint- 
ance ? Would it not be a good plan to isolate your- 


VAGABONDIA. 


223 


self from society until you feel that the guileless ones 
may approach you without fear of contamination ? 
You alarm me.” 

She lifted up her head, her eyes flashing. 

“ You are safe,” she said ; “ so it is rather premature 
to cry ‘ wolf* so soon.” 

“ It is very plain that you are outgrowing me” he 
returned. “ Dolly herself could not have made a 
more scathing remark.” 

But, fond as he was of tormenting her, he did not 
want to try her too far, and so he endeavored to 
make friends. But his efforts at reconciliation were 
not a success. She was not to be coaxed into her 
sweet mood again ; indeed she almost led him to fear 
that he had wounded her irreparably by his jests. 
And yet, when he at last consulted his watch, and 
went to the side-table for his hat and gloves, he 
turned round to find her large eyes following him in 
a wistful sort of way. 

“ Are you going ? ” she asked him at length, a half- 
reluctant appeal in her voice. 

“ I am due at Brabazon Lodge now,” he answered. 

She said no more after that, but relapsed into 
silence, and let him go without making an effort to 
detain him, receiving his adieus in her most indiffer- 
ent style. 

But she was cross and low-spirited when he was 
gone, and Aimee, coming into the room with her 


224 


VAGABONDIA. 


work, found her somewhat hard to deal with, and 
indeed was moved to tell her so. 

“ You are a most inexplicable girl, Mollie,” she 
said. “ What crotchet is troubling you now ? ” 

“No crotchet at all,” she answered, and then all 
at once she got up and stood before the mantel-glass, 
looking at herself fixedly. “ Aimee,” she said, “ if you 
were a man, would you admire me?” 

Aimee gave her a glance, and then answered her 
with sharp frankness. “ Yes, I should,” she said. 

She remained standing for a few minutes, taking 
a survey of herself, front view, side view, and even 
craning her pretty throat to get a glimpse of her back ; 
and then a pettish sigh burst from her, and she sat 
down again at her sister’s feet, clasping her hands 
about her knees in a most unorthodox position. 

“ I should like to have a great deal of money,” she 
said after a while, and she frowned as she said it. 

“ That is a startling observation,” commented 
Aimee, “and shows great singularity of taste.” 

Mollie frowned again, and shrugged one shoulder, 
but otherwise gave the remark small notice. 

“I should like,” she proceeded, “to have a car- 
riage, and to live in a grand house, and go to places. 
I should like to marry somebody rich.” And having 
blurted out this last confession, she looked half 
ashamed of herself. 

“ Mollie,” said Aimee, solemnly dropping her hands 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


225 


and her work upon her lap, “ I am beginning to feel 
as Dolly does; I am beginning to be afraid you are 
going to get yourself into serious trouble.” 

Then this overgrown baby of theirs, who had so 
suddenly astonished them all by dropping her baby- 
hood and asserting herself a woman, said something so 
startling that the wise one fairly lost her breath. 

“ If I cannot get what I want,” she said, deliber- 
ately, “ I will take what I can get.” 

“You are going out of your mind,” ejaculated 
Aimee. 

“ It does n’t matter if I am,” cried the romantic 
little goose, positively crushing the oracle by breaking 
down all at once, and flinging herself upon the hearth- 
rug in a burst of tears, — “ it does n’t matter if I am. 
Who cares for me ? ” 


CHAPTER XI. 


IN WHICH COMES A WIND WHICH BLOWS NOBODY 
GOOD. 

HREE weeks waited the wise one, keeping her 



eyes on the alert and her small brain busy, but 
preserving an owl-like silence upon the subject re- 
volving in her mind. But at the end of that time 
she marched into the parlor one day, attired for a 
walk, and astonished them all by gravely announcing 
her intention of going to see Dolly. 

“ What are you going for ? ” said Mrs. Phil. 

“ Rather sudden, is n't it ? ” commented Mollie. 

“ I ’m going on business," returned Aimee, and she 
buttoned her gloves and took her departure, without 
enlightening them further. 

Arriving at Brabazon Lodge, she found Miss Mac- 
Dowlas out and Dolly sitting alone in the parlor, with 
a letter from Griffith in her hand and tears in her 
eyes. 

Her visitor walked to the hearth, her face wrink- 
ling portentously, and kissed her with an air of af- 
fectionate severity. 


VAGABONDIA. 


227 


“ I don’t know/’ she began, comprehending matters 
at a glance, “ I am sure I don’t know what I am to 
do with you all. You are in trouble now.” 

“ Take off your things,” said Dolly, with a helpless 
little sob, “ and — and then I will tell you all about 
it. You must stay and have tea with me. Miss 
MacDowlas is away, and I — am all alone, and — and t 
0 Aimee ! ” 

The hat and jacket were laid aside in two minutes, 
and Aimee came back to her and knelt down. 

“ Is there anything in your letter you do not want 
me to see ? ” she asked. 

“No,” answered Dolly, in despair, and tossed it 
into her lap. 

It was no new story, but this time the Fates seemed 
to have conspired against her more maliciously than 
usual. A few days before Grif had found himself 
terribly dashed in spirit, and under the influence of 
impulse had written to her. Two or three times in 
one day he had heard accidental comments upon 
Go wan’s attentions to her, and on his return to his 
lodgings at night he had appealed to her in a pas- 
sionate epistle. 

He was not going to doubt her again, he said, and 
he was struggling to face the matter coolly, but he 
wanted to see her. It would be worse than useless 
to call upon her at the Lodge, and have an interview 
under the disapproving eyes of Miss MacDowlas, and 


228 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


so he had thought they might meet again by appoint- 
ment, as they had done before by chance. And Dolly 
had acquiesced at once. But Fortune was against 
her. Just as she had been ready to leave the house, 
Ralph Gowan had made his appearance, and Miss 
MacDowlas had called her down-stairs to entertain 
him. 

“ I would not have cared about telling, ,, cried Dolly, 
in tears, “ but I could not tell her, and so I had to 
stay, and — actually — sing — Aimee. Yes, sing de- 
testable love-sick songs, while my own darling, whom 
I was dying to go to, was waiting outside in the cold. 
And that was not the worst, either. He was just 
outside in the road, and when the servants lighted 
the gas he saw me through the window. And I was 
at the piano ” — in a burst — “ and Ralph Gowan 
was standing by me. And so he went home and 
wrote that? signifying with a gesture the letter Aim6e 
held. " And everything is wrong again.” 

It was very plain that everything was wrong again. 
The epistle in question was an impetuous, impas- 
sioned effusion enough. He was furious against 
Gowan, and bitter against everybody else. She had 
cheated and slighted and trifled with him when he 
most needed her love and pity; but he would not 
blame her, he could only blame himself for being such 
an insane, presumptuous fool as to fancy that any- 
thing he had to offer could be worthy of any woman. 


VAGABONDIA. 


229 


What had he to offer, etc., for half a dozen almost 
illegible pages, dashed and crossed, and all on fire 
with his bitterness and pain. 

Having taken it from Aimee, and read it for 
the twentieth time, Dolly fairly wrung her hands 
over it. 

“ If we were only just together ! ” she cried. “ It 
we only just had the tiniest, shabbiest house in the 
world, and could be married and help each other! 
He does n’t mean to be unjust or unkind, you know, 
Aimee ; he would be more wretched than I am if he 
knew how unhappy he has made me.” 

“ Ah ! ” sighed Aimee. “ He should think of that 
before he begins.” 

Then she regained possession of the letter, and 
smoothed out its creases on her knee, finishing by 
folding it carefully and returning it to its envelope, 
looking very grave all the time. 

“ Will you lend me this ? ” she said at last, holding 
the epistle up. 

“ What are you going to do with it ? ” asked Dolly, 
disconsolately. 

“I am going to ask Griffith to read it again. I 
shall be sure to see him to-morrow night.” 

“ Very well,” answered Dolly; “but don’t be too 
hard upon him, Aimee. He has a great deal to 
bear.” 

“ I know that,” said Aimee. “ And sometimes he 


230 


VAGABONDIA. 


bears it very well ; but just now he needs a little 
advice/’ 

Troubled as she was, Dolly laughed at the staid 
expression on her small, discreet face ; but even as 
she laughed she caught the child in her arms and 
kissed her. 

“ What should we do without you! ” she exclaimed. 
“We need some one to keep us all straight, we 
Vagabonds ; but it seems queer that such a small 
wiseacre as you should be our controlling power.” 

The mere sight of the small wiseacre had a com- 
forting effect upon her. Her spirits began to rise, 
and she so far recovered herself as to be able to look 
matters in the face more cheerfully. There was so 
much to talk about, and so many questions to ask, 
that it would have been impossible to remain dejected 
and uninterested. It was not until after tea, however, 
that Aimee brought her “ business ” upon the carpet. 
She had thought it best not to introduce the subject 
during the earlier part of the evening ; but when the 
tea-tray was removed, and they found themselves 
alone again, she settled down, and applied herself at 
once to the work before her. 

“ I have not told you yet what I came here for 
this afternoon,” she said. 

"You don’t mean to intimate that you did not 
come to see me ! ” said Dolly. 

“ I came to see you, of course,” decidedly ; “ but I 


V A GA B ONDIA . 


231 


came to see you for a purpose. I came to talk to 
you about Mollie.” 

Dolly almost turned pale. 

“ Mollie ! ” she exclaimed. “ What is the trouble 
about Mollie ?” 

“ Something that puzzles me / 5 was the answer. 
“ Dolly, do you know anything about Gerald Chandos ?” 

“ What ! ” said Dolly. “ It is Gerald Chandos, is 
it ? He is not a fit companion for her, I know that 
much.” 

And then she repeated, word for word, the conver- 
sation she had had with Ralph Gowan. 

Having listened to the end, Airnee shook her head. 

“ I like Mr. Gowan well enough,” she said, “ but 
he has been the cause of a great deal of trouble 
among us, without meaning to be, and I am afraid 
it is not at an end yet.” 

They were both silent for a few moments after 
this, and then Dolly, looking up, spoke with a touch 
of reluctance. 

“ I dare say you can answer me a question I should 
like to ask you ? ” she said. 

“ If it is about Mollie, I think I can,” Aimee 
returned. 

“ You have been with her so long,” Dolly went on, 
two tiny lines showing themselves upon her forehead 
this time, “and you are so quick at seeing things, 
that you must know what there is to know. And 


232 


VAGABONDIA. 


yet it hardly seems fair to ask. Ealph Gowan goes 
to Bloomsbury Place often, does he not ? ” 

“ He goes very often, and he seems to care more 
for Mollie than for any of the rest of us.” 

“ Aimee,” Dolly said next, “does — this is my 
question — does Mollie care for him ? ” 

“ Yes, she does,” answered Aim^e. “ She cares for 
him so much that she is making herself miserable 
about him.” 

“ Oh, dear ! ” cried Dolly. “ What — ” 

Aimee interrupted her. 

“ And that is not the worst. The fact is, Dolly, I 
don’t know what to make of her. If it was any one 
but Mollie, or if Mollie was a bit less innocent and 
impetuous, I should not be so much afraid ; but some- 
times she is angry with herself, and sometimes she is 
angry with him, and sometimes she is both, and then 
I should not be surprised at her doing anything inno- 
cent and frantic. Poor child ! It is my impression 
she has about half made up her mind to the desperate 
resolve of making a grand marriage. She said as 
much the other night, and I think that is why she 
encourages Mr. Chandos.” 

“ Oh, dear,” cried Dolly, again. “ And does she 
think he wants to marry her ? ” 

“ She knows he makes violent love to her, and she 
is not worldly-wise enough to know that Lord Bur- 
leighs are out of date.” 


VAGABONDIA. 


233 


“ Out of date ! ” said Dolly ; “ I doubt if they ever 
were in date. Men like Mr. Gerald Chandos would 
hesitate at marrying Venus from Bloomsbury Place.” 

“ If it was Ralph Gowan,” suggested Aimee. 

“ But Ralph Gowan is n’t like Chandos,” Dolly re- 
turned, astutely. “ He is worth ten thousand of him. 
I wish he would fall in love with Mollie and marry 
her. Poor Mollie ! Poor, pretty, headlong little 
goose ! What are we to do with her ? ” 

“ Mr. Gowan is very fond of her, in a way,” said 
Aimee. “If he did not care a little for you — ” 

“ I wish he did not ! ” sighed Dolly. “ But it 
serves me right,” with candor. “ He would never 
have thought of me again if I — well, if I had n’t 
found things so dreadfully dull at that Bilberry clan 
gathering.” 

“ ‘ If,’ ” moralized Aim^e, significantly. “ c If ’ is n’t 
a wise word, and it often gets you into trouble, Dolly. 
"If’ you hadn’t, it would have been better for Grif, 
as well ; but what cannot be cured must be endured.” 

Their long talk ended, however, in Dolly’s great 
encouragement. It was agreed that the family oracle 
was to bring Griffith to his senses by means of some 
slight sisterly reproof, and that she was to take Mol- 
lie in hand discreetly at once and persuade her to 
enter the confessional. 

“ She has altered a great deal, and has grown much 
older and more self-willed latalv,” said Aimee ; “ but 


234 


VA GAB0ND1A . 


if I am very straightforward and take her by sur- 
prise, I scarcely think she will be able to conceal 
much from me, and, at least, I shall be able to show 
her that her fancies are romantic and unpractical.” 

She did not waste any time before applying herself 
to her work, when she went home. Instead of going 
to Bloomsbury Place at once, she stopped at Griffith’s 
lodgings on her way, and rather scandalized his land- 
lady by requesting to be shown into his parlor. 
Only the grave simplicity of the small, slight figure 
in its gray cloak, and the steadfast seriousness in the 
pretty face reconciled the worthy matron to the idea 
of admitting her without investigation. But Aim4e 
bore her scrutiny very calmly. The whole family of 
them had taken tea in the little sitting-room with 
Griffith, upon one or two occasions, so she was not 
at all at a loss, although she did not find herself 
recognized. 

“ I am one of Mr. Crewe’s sisters,” she said ; and 
that, of course, was quite enough. Mrs. Cripps knew 
Mr. Crewe as well as she knew Grif himself, so she 
stepped back into the narrow passage at once, and 
even opened the parlor door, and announced the vis- 
itor in a way that made poor Grif s heart beat. 

“ One of Mr. Crewe’s sisters,” she said. 

He had been sitting glowering over the fire, with 
his head on his hands and his elbows on his knees, 
and when he started up he looked quite haggard and 


VA GABONDIA . 


235 


dishevelled. Was it — could it be Dolly ? He knew 
it could not be, but he turned pale at the thought. 
It would have been such rapture, in his present frame 
of mind, to have poured out his misery and distrust, 
and then to have clasped her to his heart before she 
had time to explain. He was just in that wretched, 
passionate, relenting, remorseful stage. 

But it was only Airnee, in her gray cloak ; and as 
the door closed behind her, that small person ad- 
vanced toward him, crumpling her white forehead 
and looking quite disturbed at the mere sight of him. 
She held up a reproachful finger at him warningly. 

“ I knew it would be just this way,” she said. 
“ And you are paler and more miserable than ever. 
If you and Dolly would just be more practical and 
reason more for each other, instead of falling head- 
long into quarrels and making everything up head- 
long every ten minutes, how much better it would 
be for you ! If I was not so fond of you both, you 
would be the greatest trials I have.” 

He was so glad to see the thoughtful, womanly 
little creature, that he could have caught her up in 
his arms, gray cloak and all, and have kissed her 
only a tithe less impetuously than he would have 
kissed Dolly. He was one of the most faithful 
worshippers at her shrine, and her pretty wisdom 
and unselfishness had won her many. He drew the 
easiest chair up to the fire for her, and made her sit 


236 


VAGABONDIA. 


down and warm her feet on the fender, while she 
talked to him, and he listened to her every word, as 
he always did. 

“ I have been to see Dolly,” she said, “ and I found 
her crying, — all by herself and crying.” And she 
paused to note the effect of her words. 

His heart gave a great thump. It always did give 
a hard thump when he thought of Dolly as she 
looked when she cried, — a soft, limp little bundle of 
pathetic prettiness, covering her dear little face in 
her hands, shedding such piteous, impassioned tears, 
and refusing to be kissed or comforted. Dolly sob- 
bing on his shoulder was so different from the 
coquettish, shrewd, mock-worldly Dolly other people 
saw. 

Aimee put her hand into her dress-pocket under 
the gray cloak and produced her letter, — took it out 
of its envelope, laid it on her knee, and smoothed out 
its creases again. 

“ She was crying over this letter,” she proceeded, — 
“ your letter ; the one you wrote to her when I think 
you cannot have been quite calm enough to write 
anything. I think you cannot have read it over 
before sending it away. It is always best to read a 
letter twice before posting it. So I have brought it 
to you to read again, and there it is,” giving it to 
him. 

He burst forth with the story of his wrongs, of 


V A GABONDIA . 


237 


course, then. He could not keep it in any longer. 
Things had gone wrong with him in every way 
before this had happened, he said, and he had longed 
so for just one hour in which Dolly could comfort him 
and try to help him to pluck up spirits again, and 
she had written to him a tender little letter, and 
promised to give him that hour, and he had been so 
full of impatience and love, and he had gone to the 
very gates and waited like a beggar outside, lest he 
should miss her by any chance, and the end of his 
waiting had been that he had caught a glimpse of 
the bright, warm room, and the piano, and Dolly 
with Gowan bending over her as if she had no other 
lover in the world. He told it all in a burst, clench- 
ing his hand and scarcely stopping for breath; but 
when he ended he dashed the letter down, pushed 
his chair round, and dropped his head on his folded 
arms on the table, with a wild, tearing sob. 

“ It is no fault of hers,” he cried, “ and it was only 
the first sting that made me reproach her. I shall 
never do it again. She is only in the right, and that 
fellow is in the right when he tells himself that he 
can take better care of her and make her happier 
than I can. I will be a coward no longer, — not an 
hour longer. I will give her up to-night. She will 
learn to love him — he is a gentleman at least — if I 
were in his place I should never fear that she would 
not learn in time, and forget — and forget the poor. 


238 


VAGABONDIA . 


selfish beggar who would have died for her, and yet 
was not man enough to control the jealous rage that 
tortured her. I ’ll give her up. I ’ll give it all up 
— but, oh! my God! Dolly, the — the little house, 
and — and the dreams I have had about it ! ” 

Aimee was almost in despair. This was not one 
of his ordinary moods; this was the culminating 
point, — the culmination of all his old sufferings and 
pangs. He had been working slowly toward this 
through all the old unhappiness and self-reproach. 
The constant droppings of the bygone years had 
worn away the stone at last, and he could not bear 
much more. Aimee was frightened now. Her habit 
of forethought showed her all this in a very few 
seconds. His nervous, highly strung, impassioned 
temperament had broken down at last. Another 
blow would be too much for him. If she could not 
manage to set him right now and calm him, and if 
things went wrong again, she was secretly conscious 
of feeling that the consequences could not be fore- 
seen. There was nothing wild and rash and wretched 
he might not do. 

She got up and went to him, and leaned upon the 
table, clasping her cool, firm little hand upon his hot, 
desperate one. A woman of fifty could not have had 
the power over him that this slight, inexperienced little 
creature had. Her childish face caught color and 
life and strength in her determination to do her best 


VAGABONDIA . 


239 


for these two whom she loved so well. Her small- 
boned, fragile figure deceived people into undervalu- 
ing her reserve forces ; but there was mature feeling 
and purpose enough in her to have put many a woman 
three times her age to shame. The light, cool touch 
of her hand soothed and controlled Griffith from the 
first, and when she put forth all her powers of reason- 
ing, and set his trouble before him in a more practical 
and less headlong way, not a word was lost upon him. 
She pictured Dolly to him just as she had found her 
holding his letter in her hand, and she pictured her 
too as she had really been the night he watched 
her through the window, — not staying because she 
cared for Go wan, but because circumstances had 
forced her to remain when she was longing in her own 
impetuous pretty way to fly to him, and give him the 
comfort he needed. And she gave Dolly’s story in 
Dolly’s own words, with the little sobs between, and 
the usual plentiful sprinkling of sweet, foolish, loving 
epithets, and — with innocent artfulness — made her 
seem so charming and affectionate, a little centre- 
figure in the picture she drew, that no man with a 
heart in his breast could have resisted her, and by 
the time Aimee had finished, Grif was so far moved 
that it seemed a sheer impossibility to speak again of 
relinquishing his claims. 

But he could not regain his spirits sufficiently to 
feel able to say very much. He quieted down, but 


240 


VAGABONDIA. 


he was still down at heart and crushed in feeling, and 
could do little else but listen in a hopeless sort of way* 

“ I will tell you what you shall do,” Aimee said at 
last. “ You shall see Dolly yourself, — not on the 
street, but just as you used to see her when she was 
at home. She shall come home some afternoon. I 
know Miss MacDowlas will let her, — and you shall 
sit in the parlor together, Grif, and make everything 
straight, and begin afresh.” 

He could not help being roused somewhat by such 
a prospect. The cloud was lifted for one instant, 
even if it fell upon him again the next. 

“I shall have to wait a week,” he said. “Old 
Flynn has asked me to go to Dartmouth, to attend 
to some business for him, and I leave here to-morrow 
morning.” 

“ Very well ! ” she answered. “ If we must wait a 
week, we must ; but you can write to Dolly in the 
interval, and settle upon the day, and then she can 
speak to Miss MacDowlas.” 

He agreed to the plan at once, and promised to write 
to Dolly that very night. So the young peacemaker’s 
mind was set at rest upon this subject, at least, and 
after giving him a trifle more advice, and favoring 
him with a few more sage axioms, she prepared to 
take her departure. 

"You may put on your hat and take me to the 
door ; but you had better not come in if you are going 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


241 


to finish your letter before the post closes,” she said ; 
“ but the short walk will do you good, and the night- 
air will cool you. ,, 

She bade him good-night at the gate when they 
reached Bloomsbury Place, and she entered the house 
with her thoughts turning to Mollie. Mollie had 
been out, too, it seemed. When she went up-stairs 
to their bedroom, she found her there, standing 
before the dressing-table, still with her hat on, and 
looking in evident preoccupation at something she 
held in her hand. Hearing Aimee, she started and 
turned round, dropping her hand at her side, but not 
in time to hide a suspicious glitter which caught her 
sister’s eye. Here was a worse state of affairs than 
ever. She had something to hide, and she had made 
up her mind to hide it. She stood up as Aimee 
approached, looking excited and guilty, but still half- 
defiant, her lovely head tossed back a little and an 
obstinate curve on her red lips. But the oracle was 
not to be daunted. She confronted her with quite a 
stern little air. 

“ Mollie,” she began at once, without the least 
hesitation, — “ Mollie, you have just this minute hid- 
den something from me, and I should n’t have thought 
you could do it.” x 

Mollie put her closed hand behind her. 

“ If I am hiding something,” she answered, “ I am 
not hiding it without reason.” 

16 


242 


VAGABONDIA. 


“No,” returned Dame Prudence, severely, “you are 
not. You have a very good reason, I am afraid. 
You are ashamed of yourself, and you know you are 
doing wrong. You have got a secret, which you are 
keeping from me, Mollie,” bridling a little in the 
prettiest way. “I didn't think you would keep a 
secret from me.” 

Mollie, very naturally, was overpowered. She 
looked a trifle ashamed of herself, and the tears came 
into her eyes. She drew her hand from behind her 
back, and held it out with a half-pettish, half-timid 
gesture. 

“ There ! ” she said ; “ if you must see it.” 

And there, on her pink palm, lay a shining opal 
ring. 

“ And,” said Aimee, looking at it without offering 
to touch it, and then looking at her, — “ and Mr. Gerald 
Chandos gave it to you ? ” 

“ Yes, Mr. Gerald Chandos did,” trying to brave it 
out, but still appearing the reverse of comfortable. 

“ And you think it proper,” proceeded her inquis- 
itor, “ to accept such presents from a gentleman who 
cares nothing for you?” 

Care nothing for her! Mollie drew herself upright, 
with the air of a Zenobia. She had had too few real 
love affairs not to take arms at once at such an impu- 
tation cast upon her prowess. 

“He cares enough for me to want me to marry 


VAGABONDIA . 


243 


him/’ she said, and then stopped and looked as if she 
could have bitten her tongue off for betraying her. 

Aimee sat down in the nearest chair and stared at 
her, as if she doubted the evidence of her senses. 

“To do what ?” she demanded. 

There was no use in trying to conceal the truth any 
longer. Mollie saw that much ; and besides this, her 
feelings were becoming too strong for her from vari- 
ous causes. The afternoon had been an exciting one 
to her, too. So, all at once, so suddenly that Aimee 
was altogether unprepared for the outbreak, she 
gave way. The ring fell unheeded on to the carpet, 
slipped from her hand and rolled away, and the next 
instant she went down upon her knees, hiding her 
face on her arms on Aimee’s lap, and began to cry 
hysterically. 

“ It — it is to be quite a secret,” she sobbed. “ I 
would not tell anybody but you, and I dare not tell 
you quite all, but he has asked me to marry him, 
Aimee, and I have — I have said yes.” And then 
she cried more than ever, and caught Aimee’s hand, 
and clung to it with a desperate, childish grasp, as if 
she was frightened. 

It was very evident that she was frightened, too. 
All the newly assumed womanliness was gone. It 
was the handsome, inexperienced, ignorant child 
Mollie she had known all her life who was clinging 
to her, Aimee felt, — the pretty, simple, thoughtless 


244 


VAGABONDIA. 


Mollie they had all admired and laughed at, and 
teased and been fond of. She seemed to have become 
a child again all at once, and she was in trouble and 
desperate, it was plain. 

“ But the very idea ! ” exclaimed Aimee, inwardly ; 
" the bare idea of her having the courage to engage 
herself to him ! ” 

“ I never heard such a thing in my life,” she said, 
aloud. “ Oh, Mollie ! Mollie ! what induced you to 
give him such a mad answer ? You don’t care for 
him.” 

“ He — he would not take any other answer, and 
he is as nice as any one else,” shamefacedly. “ He 
is nicer than Brown and the others, and — I do like 
him — a little,” but a tiny shudder crept over her, and 
she held her listener’s hand more tightly. 

“ As nice as any one else ! ” echoed Aimee, indig- 
nantly. “ Nicer than Brown ! You ought to be in 
leading-strings ! ” with pathetic hopelessness. “ That 
was n’t your only reason, Mollie.” 

The hat with the short crimson feather had been 
unceremoniously pushed off, and hung by its elastic 
upon Mollie’ s neck; the pretty curly hair was all 
crushed into a heap, and the flushed, tear- wet face 
was hidden in the folds of Aimee’s dress. There was 
a charming, foolish, fanciful side to Mollie’s des- 
peration, as there was to all her moods. 

“ That was not your only reason,” repeated Aimee. 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


245 


One impetuous, unhappy little sob, and the poor 
simple child confessed against her will. 

“ Nobody — nobody else cared for me ! ” she cried. 

“ Nobody ? ” said Aimee ; and then, making up her 
mind to go to the point at once, she said, “ Does ‘ no- 
body 9 mean that Ealph Go wan did not, Mollie ? 99 

The clinging hand was snatched away, and the 
child quite writhed. 

“ I hate Ealph Go wan ! 99 she cried. “ I detest him ! 
I wish — I wish — I wish I had never seen him ! 
Why could n't he stay away among his own people ? 
Nobody wanted him. Dolly does n't care for him, 
and Grif hates him. Why could n’t he stay where 
he was ? " 

There was no need to doubt after this, of course. 
Her love for Ealph Gowan had rendered her restless 
and despairing, and so she had worked out this inno- 
cent romance, intending to defend herself against him. 
The heroines of her favorite novels married for money 
when they could not marry for love, and why should 
not she ? Eemember, she was only seventeen, and 
had been brought up in Yagabondia among people 
who did not often regard consequences. Mr. Gerald 
Chandos was rich, made violent love to her, and was 
ready to promise anything, it appeared, — not that 
she demanded much ; the Lord Burleighs of her ex- 
perience invariably showered jewels and equipages 
and fine raiment upon their brides without being 


246 


V A GABONDIA. 


asked. She would have thought it positive bliss to 
be tied to Ralph Gowan for six or seven years with- 
out any earthly prospect of ever being married ; to 
have belonged to him as Dolly belonged to Grif, to 
sit in the parlor and listen to him while he made love 
to her as Grif made love to Dolly, would have been 
quite enough steady-going rapture for her ; but since 
that was out of the question, Mr. Gerald Chandos 
and diamonds and a carriage would have to fill up 
the blank. 

But, of course, she did not say this to Aimee. In 
fact, after her first burst of excitement subsided, 
Aimee could not gain much from her. She cried a 
little more, and then seemed vexed with herself, and 
tried to cool down, and at last so far succeeded that 
she sat up and pushed her tangled hair from her wet, 
hot face, and began to search for the ring. 

“ It has got a diamond in the centre,” she said, try- 
ing to speak indifferently. “ I don’t believe you looked 
at it. The opals are splendid, too.” 

“ Are you going to wear it ? ” asked Aimee. 

She colored up to her forehead. “ No, I am not,” 
she answered. “ I should have worn it before if I 
had intended to let people see it. I told you it was 
a secret. I have had this ring three or four days.” 

“ Why is it a secret ? ” demanded Dame Prudence. 
“ I don’t believe in secrets, — particularly in secret 
engagements. Is n’t Phil to know ? ” 


VAGABONDIA. 


247 


She turned away to put the ring into its case. 
“Not yet,” she replied, pettishly. “Time enough 
when it can’t be helped. It is a secret, I tell you, 
and I don’t care about everybody’s talking it over.” 
And she would say no more. 


CHAPTEE XII. 


IN WHICH THERE IS AN EXPLOSION. 

“TT is my impression,” said Dolly, “ that something 
is going to happen” 

She was not in the best of spirits. She could not 
have explained why. Griffith was safe, at least, though 
he had been detained a week longer than he had an- 
ticipated, and consequently their meeting would have 
to be deferred; but though this had been a disap- 
pointment, Dolly was used to such disappointments, 
and besides the most formidable part of the waiting 
was over, for it was settled now that he would be 
home in two days. It was Tuesday now, and on 
Thursday he was to return, and she was going to 
Bloomsbury Place in the afternoon, and he was to 
join the family tea as he had used to do in the old 
times. But still she did not feel quite easy. She 
was restless and uncomfortable in spite of herself, and 
was conscious of being troubled by a vague presenti- 
ment of evil. 

“ It is not like me to be blue,” she said to herself ; 


VAGABONDIA. 


249 


“ but I am blue to-day. I wonder what is going on 
at home.” 

Then, as was quite natural, her thoughts wandered 
to Mollie, and she began to ponder upon what Aimee 
had told her. How were matters progressing, and 
what was going to be the end of it all ? The child’s 
danger was plainer to her than it was to Aimee ; and, 
fond as she was of Mollie, she had determined to 
improve the occasion of her visit home, by taking the 
fair delinquent aside and administering a sound lec- 
ture to her. She would tell her the truth, at least, 
and try to open her innocent eyes to the fact that 
Mr. Gerald Chandos was not a man of the King 
Cophetua stamp, and that there was neither romance 
nor poetry in allowing such a man to amuse himself 
at her expense. 

Poor Mollie ! It would be a humiliating view to 
take of a first conquest, but it would be the best thing 
for her in the end. Dolly sighed over the mere pros- 
pect of the task before her. She remembered what 
her first conquest had been, and how implicitly she 
had believed in her new power, and how trustingly 
she had swallowed every sugared nothing, and how 
she had revelled in the field of possible romance 
which had seemed spread before her, until she had 
awakened one fine day to find the first flush of her 
triumph fading, and her adorer losing his attractions 
and becoming rather tame. That had been long ago. 


250 


VAGABONDIA. 


even before Griffith’s time, but she had not forgotten 
the experience, and she knew it would have been a 
severe shock to her innocent self-love and self-gratu- 
lation, if any one had hinted to her that there was a 
doubt of her captive’s honesty. She was roused from 
her reverie by a message from Miss MacDowlas. It 
was only a commonplace sort of message. There 
were some orders to be left at the poulterer’s and 
fruiterer’s, and some bills to be paid in town, and, 
these affairs being her business, Miss MacDowlas had 
good-naturedly ordered the carriage for her, as she 
had a long round to make. 

Dolly got up and laid her work aside. She was 
not sorry for the opportunity of going out, so she ran 
up-stairs with some alacrity to put on her hat, and, 
having dressed, went to Miss MacDowlas for more 
particular instructions. 

“ You are looking rather pale and the drive will do 
you good,” said that lady. “ Call at Pullet’s and pay 
his bill, and order the things on his list first. By the 
way, it was when I drove round to give orders to 
Pullet the other day, that I saw your pretty sister 
with Gerald Chandos. She is too pretty, far too 
pretty, and far too young and inexperienced, to be 
giving private interviews to such people as Gerald 
Chandos,” sharply. 

“ Private ! ” repeated Dolly, with some indignation. 
u I think that is a mistake. Mr. Gerald Chandos has 


VAGABONDIA. 


251 


no need to make his interview private. The doors 
are open to him at Bloomsbury Place so long as he 
behaves himself.” 

“ The more is the pity,” answered Miss MacDowlas ; 
“ but that this was a private interview I am cer- 
tain. My pretty Miss Innocence came up the 
street slowly with her handsome baby-face on fire, 
and two minutes later Gerald Chandos followed her 
in a wondrous hurry, and joined her and carried her 
off, looking very guilty and charming, and a trifle 
reluctant, I must admit.” 

Dolly’s cheeks flushed, and her heart began to beat 
hotly. If this was the case it was simply disgrace- 
ful, and Miss Mollie was allowing herself to be led 
too far. 

“ I am sorry to hear this,” she said to Miss Mac- 
Dowlas, “ but I am indebted to you for telling me. I 
will attend to it when I go home on Thursday, and,” 
with a flash of fire, “ if it is needful I will attend to 
Mr. Gerald Chandos himself.” 

She entered the carriage, feeling hot with anger 
and distress. She had not expected such a blow, 
even though she had told herself that she was pre- 
pared to hear of any romantic imprudence. And 
then in the midst of her anger she began to pity 
Mollie, as it seemed natural to pity her always when 
she was indiscreet. Who had ever taught her to be 
discreet, poor child ? Had she herself ? No, she had 


252 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


not. She had been fond of her and proud of her 
beauty, but she had laughed at her unsophisticated, 
thoughtless way with the rest, and somehow they had 
all looked upon her as they looked upon Tod, — as 
rather a good joke. Dolly quite hated herself as 
she remembered how she had related her own little 
escapades for the edification of the family circle, and 
how Mollie had enjoyed them more than any one 
else. She had never overstepped the actual bounds 
of propriety herself, but she had been coquettish and 
fond of admiration, and had delighted to hold her own 
against the world. 

“ I was n’t a good example to her ! ” she cried, re- 
morsefully. “She ought to have had a good, wise 
mother. I wish she had. I wish I had one myself.” 

And she burst into tears, and leaned her head 
against the cushioned carriage, feeling quite overcome 
by her self-reproach and consciousness. Their mother 
had died when Mollie was born, and they had been 
left to fight their own battles ever since. 

She was obliged to control herself, however. It 
would never do to present herself to Pullet in tears. 
So she sat up and dried her eyes with her handker- 
chief, and turned to the carriage window to let the 
fresh air blow upon her face. But she had not been 
looking out two minutes when her attention was 
attracted by something down the street, — a bit of 
color, — a little tuft of scarlet feathers in a hat, and 


VAGABONDIA. 


253 


then her eyes, wandering lower, recognized a well- 
remembered jacket and a well-remembered dress, and 
then the next instant she uttered an exclamation in 
spite of herself. 

“ It is Mollie ! ” she cried. “ It is Mollie, and here 
is Gerald Chandos ! ” 

For at the door of a bookseller’s she was just near- 
ing stood the gentleman in question, holding a peri- 
odical in his hand, and evidently awaiting an arrival. 

He caught sight of Mollie almost as soon as she did 
herself, and the instant he saw her he hurried toward 
her, and by the time Miss MacDowlas’s carriage rolled 
slowly up to them, in its usual stately fashion, he was 
holding the small disreputable glove Mollie had just 
taken out of the convenient jacket pocket, and the 
fair culprit herself was listening to his eager greeting 
with the old, bright, uncontrollable blushes, and the 
old dangerous trick of drooping brown-fringed eye- 
lids, and half-shy, half- wilful air. Dolly instinctively 
called to her almost aloud. She could not resist the 
impulse. 

“ Mollie ! ” she said. “ Mollie ! ” 

But, of course, Mollie did not hear her, and the car- 
riage passed her, and Dolly sank back into her corner 
catching her breath. 

“ It was not a mistake,” she said ; “ it was true. It 
is worse than I thought. Miss MacDowlas was right. 
It was no accident which brought them both here. 


254 


V A GABONDIA . 


He is a cowardly scoundrel and is playing upon her 
ignorance. If I had believed in him before, I should 
know that he is not to be trusted now. She is walk- 
ing on the edge of a precipice, and she thinks she is 
safe and never dreams of its existence. Oh, Mollie ! 
Mollie ! the world means nothing to you yet, and it 
is we who have to show you all the thorns ! ” 

She finished her errands and drove homeward as 
quickly as possible. She could think of nothing but 
Mollie, and by the time she reached Brabrazon Lodge 
her head ached with the unpleasant excitement. The 
servant who opened the door met her with a piece of 
information. Mr. Gowan had called to see her on 
some special business, and was awaiting her arrival 
in the drawing-room. He had been there almost an 
hour. 

She did not go to her room at all, but ran up-stairs 
to the drawing-room quickly, feeling still more 
anxious. It was just possible that somebody was ill, 
and Ralph Gow T an had come to break the news to her 
because no one else had been at liberty. With this 
idea uppermost, she opened the door and advanced 
toward him, looking pale and troubled. 

He met her half-way, and took her outstretched 
hand, looking troubled himself. 

“ You are not very well,” he said at once. “ I am 
sorry to see that.” And his voice told her immedi- 
ately that he had not come with good news. 


VAGABONDIA. 


255 


She smiled faintly, but when she sat down she put 
her hand to her forehead. 

“ Am I pale, then ? ” she answered. “ I suppose I 
must be. It is nothing but a trifle of headache, and,” 
with a hesitant laugh, “ that I half fancied you had 
come to tell me something unpleasant.” 

He was silent for a moment, — so silent that she 
looked up at him with a startled face. 

“ It is something unpleasant ! ” she exclaimed. 
“ You have come with ill news, and you are afraid 
to begin.” 

“ Not so bad as that, — not afraid, but rather reluc- 
tant,” he answered. “ It is not pleasant news ; and 
but that I felt it would be wisest to warn you at once, 
I would rather any one else had brought it. I have 
stumbled upon a disagreable report.” 

“ Report ! ” Dolly echoed, and her thoughts flew to 
Mollie again. 

“ Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “ It is only a dis- 
agreeable one because the subject of it has managed 
to connect himself with some one whose happiness 
we value.” 

Dolly rose from her chair and stood up, turning 
even paler than before. 

“ This some one whose happiness we value ie 
Mollie,” she said. “ And the report you have 
heard is about Mr. Gerald Chandos. Am I not 
right?” 


256 


VAGABONDIA. 


“ Yes/’ lie returned, “ you are right. The hero of 
the report is Gerald Chandos.” 

“ What has he been doing ? ” she asked, sharply. 
“ Don't hesitate, please. I want to know.” 

He was evidently both distressed and perplexed. 
He took two or three hurried steps across the room, 
as if to give himself a little extra time to settle his 
words into the best form. But Dolly could not 
wait. 

“ Mr. Gowan,” she said, “ what has that man been 
doing ? ” 

He turned round and answered her. 

“ He has been passing himself off to your brother 
as an unmarried man,” he said. 

She slipped back into her chair again, and wrung 
her hands passionately. 

“ And he is married ? ” she demanded. “ Oh ! how 
was it you did not know this ? ” 

“ Not one in ten of Mr. Gerald Chandos’s friends 
know it,” he returned. "And I am only a chance 
acquaintance. It is not an agreeable story to tell, if 
what report says is true. Remember, it is only 
report as yet, and I will not vouch for it. It is said 
that the marriage was the end of a boyish folly, and 
that the happy couple separated by mutual consent 
six months after its consummation. The woman went 
to California, and Chandos has not seen her since, 
though he hears of her whereabouts occasionally.” 


VAGABONDIA. 


257 


* And you are not quite sure yet that the report is 
true ? ” said Dolly. 

“ Not quite sure,” he replied ; “ but I wish I had 
greater reason to doubt it.” 

Eecurring mentally to the little scene she had wit- 
nessed on the street only an hour or so previously, and 
remembering Mollie’s blushes and drooping eyes, and 
the look they had won from Mr. Gerald Chandos as 
he took her half-reluctant hand in his, Dolly bit her 
lips hard, feeling her blood grow hot within her. 
She waited just a minute to cool herself, and then 
spoke. 

“ Mr. Gowan,” she said, “ in the first place I ought 
to thank you.” 

“ Nay,” he said, “ I promised to help you to care 
for Mollie.” 

“ I ought to thank you,” she repeated. “And I 
do. But in the second place I am going to ask you 
to do something for me which may be disagreeable.” 

“ You may be sure,” he replied, " that I shall not 
hesitate.” 

“ Yes,” she said, “ I think I am sure of that, or I 
should not ask you. I am so eager about the matter, 
that I could not bear to waste the time. I want you 
to help me. On Thursday afternoon I am going 
home. Can you trace this report to its source before 
then, and let me know whether it is a true or a falsa 
one?” 


17 


258 


VAGABONDIA. 


“ I can try.” 

She clasped both her gloved hands together on the 
small table before her, and lifted to his such a deter- 
mined young face and such steadfast eyes, that he 
was quite impressed. She would rise in arms against 
the world for poor, unwise Mollie, it was plain. It 
was not so safe a matter to trifle in Yagabondia, it 
would seem, — that Gerald Chandos would find to his 
cost. 

“If you bring word to me that what you have 
heard is a truth,” she said, “ I can go to Mollie with 
my weapon in my hand, and I can end all at one 
blow. However wilful and incredulous she may 
have been heretofore, she will not attempt to resist 
me when I tell her that. It is a humiliating thing 
to think he has insulted her by keeping his secret so 
far ; but we meet with such covert stings now and 
then in Yagabondia, and perhaps it will prove a bless- 
ing in disguise. If we had used our authority to 
make her dismiss him without having a decided rea- 
son to give her, she might only have resented our 
intervention as being nothing but prejudice. As it is, 
she will be frightened and angry.” 

So it was agreed upon that he should take in hand 
the task of sifting the affair to the bottom. His time 
was his own, and chance had thrown him among 
men who would be likely to know the truth. As 
soon as he had gained the necessary information, 


V A GABONDIA . 


259 


Dolly would hear from him, or he would call upon 
her and give her all particulars. 

“ You have a whole day before you, — nearly two 
whole days, I may say, for I shall not be likely to 
leave here until five or six o’clock on Thursday,” 
Dolly said, when their rather lengthened interview 
terminated. 

“ I will make the most of my time,” he replied. 

Dolly stood at the window and watched him go 
down the walk to the gates. 

“ This is the something which was going to happen,” 
she commented. “ Having set matters straight with 
Grif, I suppose it is necessary, for the maintenance of 
my self-control, that I should have a difficulty about 
Mollie ; but I think I could have retained my equi- 
librium without it.” 

The two days passed quietly enough up to Thurs- 
day afternoon. Whatever Ralph Gowan had discov- 
ered, he was keeping to himself for the present. He 
had not written, and he had not called. Naturally, 
Dolly was impatient. She began to be very im- 
patient indeed, as the afternoon waned, and it became 
dusk. Worse still, her old restlessness came upon her. 
She could not make up her mind to leave Brabazon 
Lodge until she had either seen or heard from Gowan, 
and she was afraid that if she lingered late Griffith 
would arrive before her, and would be troubled by her 
non-appearance. Since the night they had met in the 


260 


VAGABONDIA. 


street she had not seen him, and she had much to say 
to him. She had looked forward anxiously to this 
evening, and the few quiet hours they were to spend 
together in the dear old disreputable parlor at Blooms- 
bury Place. They had spent so many blissful even- 
ings in that parlor, that the very thought of it made 
her heart beat happily. Nobody would be there to 
interfere with them. The rest of the family would, 
good-naturedly, vacate and leave them alone, and she 
would take her old chair by the fire, and Grif would 
sit near her, and in ten minutes after they had sat so 
together, they would have left all their troubles 
behind them, and wandered off into a realm of tender 
dreams and sweet unrealities. But, impatient as she 
was to be gone, Dolly could not forget Mollie’s inter- 
est. It was too near her heart to be forgotten. She 
must attend to Mollie’s affairs first, and then she 
could fly to Grif and the parlor with an easy con- 
science. So she waited until five o’clock before dress- 
ing to go out, and then, after watching at the window 
for a while, she decided to go to her room and put on 
her hat and make all her small preparations, so that 
when her visitor arrived she might be ready to leave 
the house as soon as he did. 

“ It won’t do to keep Grif waiting too long, even 
for Mollie’s sake,” she said. “ I must consider him, 
too. If Mr. Go wan does not come by six or half-past, 
I shall be obliged to go.” 


VAGABONDIA. 


261 


She purposely prolonged her toilet, even though it 
had occupied a greater length of time than usual in 
the first instance. There had been a new acquisition 
in the shape of a dress to don, and one or two coquet- 
tish aids to appearance, which were also novelties. 
But before six o’clock she was quite ready, and, having 
nothing else to do, was reduced to the necessity of 
standing before the glass and taking stock of herself 
and her attire. 

“ It fits,” she soliloquized, curving her neck in her 
anxiety to obtain a back view of herself. “ It fits like 
a glove, and so Grif will be sure to like it. His ad- 
miration for clothes that fit amounts to a monomania. 
He will make his usual ecstatic remarks on the sub- 
ject of figure, too. And I must confess,” with modest 
self-satisfaction, — “ I must confess that those frills are 
not unbecoming. If we were only rich — and mar- 
ried — how I would dress, to please him ! Being 
possessed of a figure, one’s results are never uncer- 
tain. Figure is a weakness of mine, also. With the 
avoirdupois of Miss Jolliboy, life would appear a 
desert. Ten thousand per annum would not console 
me. And yet she wears sables and seal-skin, and is 
happy. It is a singular fact, worthy of the notice of 
the philosopher, that it is such women who invariably 
possess the sable and seal-skin. Ah, well ! ” charitably, 
“ I suppose it is a dispensation of Providence. When 
they attain that size they need some compensation.” 


262 


VAGABONDIA. 


Often in after time she remembered the complacent 
little touch of vanity, and wondered how it had been 
possible that she could stand there, making so 
thoughtless and foolish a speech when danger was so 
near, and so much of sharp, passionate suffering was 
approaching her. 

She had waited until the last minute, and finding, 
on consulting her watch, that it was past six, she 
decided to wait no longer. She took up her gloves 
from the dressing-table and drew them on ; she settled 
the little drooping plume in her hat and picked up 
her muff, and then, giving a last glance and a saucy 
nod to the piquant reflection in the glass, she opened 
her bedroom door to go out. 

And then it was, just at this last moment, that 
there came a ring at the hall-door bell, — evidently a 
hurried ring, and withal a ring which made her heart 
beat, she knew not why. 

She stood at the head of the staircase and listened. 
A moment later, and the visitor was speaking to the 
servant who had admitted him. 

“ Mr. Gowan,” she heard. “ Miss Crewe — wish to 
see her at once — at once.” 

She knew by his voice that something was wrong, 
and she did not wait for the up-coming of the servant. 
She almost flew down the staircase, and entered the 
parlor an instant after him ; and when he saw her he 
met her with an exclamation of thankfulness. 


VAGABONDIA 


263 


* Thank God ! ” he said, “ that you are ready 1 ” He 
was pale with excitement, and fairly out of breath* 
He did not give her time to answer him. “ You must 
come with me,” he said. “ There is not a moment to 
lose. I have a cab at the door. I have driven here 
at full speed. The report is true, and I have found 
out that to-night Chandos leaves London. But that 
is not the worst, — for God’s sake, be calm, and re- 
member how much depends upon your courage, — he 
intends taking your sister with him.” 

Terrible as the shock was to her, she was calm, and 
did remember how much might depend upon her. She 
forgot Grif and the happy evening she had promised 
herself ; she forgot all the world but Mollie, — hand- 
some, lovable, innocent Mollie, who was rushing head- 
long and unconsciously to misery and ruin. A great, 
sharp change seemed to come upon her as she turned 
to Ralph Gowan. She was not the same girl who, a 
minute or so before, had nodded at her pretty self in the 
glass ; the excited blood tingled in her veins ; she was 
full of desperate, eager bravery, — she could not wait 
a breath’s space. 

“Come!” she exclaimed, “I am ready. You can 
tell me the rest when we are in the cab.” 

She did not even know where they were going until 
she heard Gowan give the driver the directions. But, 
as they drove through the streets, she learned all. 

In spite of his efforts, it was not until the eleventh 


264 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


hour that he had succeeded in obtaining positive proof 
of the truth of the report, though he had found less 
cause to doubt it each time he made fresh inquiries. 
In the end he had been driven to the necessity of 
appealing to a man who had been Chandos’s confiden- 
tial valet, and who, rascal though he was, still was 
able to produce proofs to be relied on. Then he 
had been roused to such indignation that he had 
driven to the fellow’s lodgings with the intention of 
confronting him with his impudent guilt, and there he 
had made the fearful discovery that he had just left 
the place with “ a pretty, childish-looking girl, — tall, 
and with a lovely color,” as the landlady described 
her ; and he had known it was Mollie at once. 

The good woman had given him all particulars. 
They had come to the house together in a cab, and the 
young lady had not got out, but had remained seated 
in it while her companion had given his orders to his 
servant indoors. She — his housekeeper — had heard 
him say something about Brussels, and, having caught 
a glimpse of the charming face in the vehicle outside, 
she had watched it from behind the blinds, suspecting 
something out of the common order of things. 

“ Not that he did not treat her polite and respectful 
enough,” she added; “for he did and she — pretty 
young thing — seemed quite to expect it, and not to 
be at all ashamed of herself, though she were a trifle 
shy and timid. I even heard him ask her if she 


VAGABONDIA. 


265 


would rather he rode outside, and she said she ‘thought 
so, if he pleased/ And he bowed to her and went, 
quite obedient. That was what puzzled me so; if 
he ’d ha' been freer, I could have understood it” 

“ It does not puzzle me ! ” cried Dolly, clenching 
her hands and fairly panting for breath when she 
heard it. “ He knows how innocent she is, and he is 
too crafty to alarm her by his manner. Oh, cannot 
we make this man drive faster ? — cannot we make 
him drive faster ? ” 

Gowan drew out his watch and referred to it. 

“ There is no danger of our losing their train,” he 
said. “It does not leave the station until nearly 
seven, and it is not yet half-past six. If they leave 
London to-night, we shall meet them ; if they do not, 
I think I can guess where we shall find them. Re- 
member, you must not allow yourself to become 
excited. We have only our coolness and readiness 
of action to rely upon. If we lose our presence of 
mind, we lose all/ , 

He did not lose his presence of mind, at least. 

Even in the midst of her distress, Dolly found time 
to feel grateful to him beyond measure, and to admire 
his forethought. He never seemed to hesitate for a 
moment. He had evidently decided upon his course 
beforehand, and there was no delay. Reaching the 
station, he assisted Dolly to descend from the cab 
and led her at once to a seat where she could com- 


266 


VA GABONDIA . 


mand a view of all who made their appearance upon 
the platform. Then he left her and went to make in- 
quiries from the officials. He was not absent long. In 
a few minutes he returned with the necessary infor- 
mation. The train was not due for twenty minutes, 
and as yet no lady and gentleman answering to his 
description had been seen by any one in the place. 

He came to Dolly and took a seat by her, looking 
down at her upturned, appealing face pityingly, but 
reassuringly. 

“ We are safe yet,” he said. “ They have not ar- 
rived, and they can have taken passage in no other 
train. We will watch this train leave the station, 
and then we will drive at full speed to the hotel 
Chandos is in the habit of visiting when he makes a 
flying journey. I know the place well enough.” 

The next half-hour was an anxious one to both. 
The train was behind time, and consequently they 
were compelled to wait longer than they had expected. 
A great many people crowded into the station and 
took tickets for various points, — workingmen and 
their wives, old women with bundles, and young ones 
without, comfortable people who travelled first-class 
and seemed satisfied with themselves, shabbily attired 
little dressmakers and milliners with bandboxes, a 
party of tourists, and a few nice girls; in fact, the 
usual samples of people hurrying or taking it easy, 
losing their temper or preserving it ; but there was 


VAGABONDIA 


267 


no Mollie. The last moment arrived, the guards 
closed the carriage doors with the customary bang, 
and the customary cry of “ All right ; ” there were a 
few puffs and a whistle, and then the train moved 
slowly out of the station. Mollie was not on her way 
to Brussels yet ; that was a fact to be depended upon. 

Dolly rose from her seat with a sigh which was half 
relief. 

“ Now for trying the hotel,” said Gowan. “ Take 
my arm and summon up your spirits. In less than a 
quarter of an hour, I think I may say, we shall have 
found our runaway, and we shall have to do our best 
to reduce her romantic escapade to a commonplace 
level. We may even carry her back to Bloomsbury 
Place before they have had time to become anxious 
about her. Thank Heaven, we were so fortunate as 
to discover all before it was too late ! ” 

Bloomsbury Place ! A sudden pang shot through 
Dolly's heart. She recollected then for the first time 
that at Bloomsbury Place Griffith was waiting for 
her, and that it might be a couple of hours before she 
could see him and explain. She got into the cab and 
leaned back in one corner, with the anxious tears 
forcing themselves into her eyes. It seemed as if 
fate itself was against her. 

“What will he think?" she exclaimed, uncon- 
sciously. “ Oh, what will he think ? ” Then, seeing 
that Gowan had heard her, she looked at him piteously. 


268 


VAGABONDIA. 


“ I did not mean to speak aloud,” she said. “ I had 
forgotten in my trouble that Grif will be waiting for 
me all this time. He has gone to the house to meet 
me, and — I am not there.” 

Perhaps he felt a slight pang, too. For some time 
he had been slowly awakening to the fact that this 
otherwise unfortunate Grif was all in all to her, and 
shut out the rest of the world completely. He had no 
chance against him, and no other man would have 
any. Still, even in the face of this knowledge, the 
evident keenness of her disappointment cut him a 
little. 

“ You must not let that trouble you,” he said, gen- 
erously. “ Donne will easily understand your absence 
when you tell him where you have been. In the 
meantime, I have a few suggestions to make before 
we reach the hotel.” 

It was Mollie he was thinking of. He was won- 
drously tender of her in his man’s pity for her childish 
folly and simplicity. If possible, they must keep her 
secret to themselves. If she had left no explanation 
behind her, she must have given some reason for 
leaving the house, and if they found her at the hotel 
it would not be a difficult matter to carry her back 
home without exciting suspicion, and thus she would 
be saved the embarrassment and comment her posi- 
tion would otherwise call down upon her. Griffith 
might be told in confidence, but the rest of them 


VAGABONDIA. 


269 


might be left to imagine that nothing remarkable had 
occurred. These were his suggestions. 

Dolly agreed to adopt them at once, it is hardly 
necessary to say. The idea that it would be possible 
to adopt them made the case look less formidable. 
She had been terribly troubled at first by the thought 
of the excitement the explanation of the escapade 
would cause at Bloomsbury Place. Phil would have 
been simply furious, — not so much against Mollie as 
against Chandos. His good-natured indifference to 
circumstances would not have been proof against the 
base betrayal of confidence involved in the affair. 
And then even in the after-time, when the worst 
was over and forgotten, the innumerable jokes and 
thoughtless sarcasms she would have had to encoun- 
ter would have been Mollie’s severest punishment. 
When the remembrance of her past danger had faded 
out of the family mind, and the whimsical side of the 
matter presented itself, they would have teased her, 
and Dolly felt that such a course would be far from 
safe. So she caught at Ralph Go wan’s plan eagerly. 

Still she felt an excited thrill when the cab drew 
up before the door of the hotel. Suppose they should 
not find her ? Suppose Chandos had taken precau- 
tions against their being followed ? 

But Gowan did not seem to share her misgivings, 
though the expression upon his face was a decidedly 
disturbed one as he descended from the vehicle. 


270 


VAGABONDIA. 


il You must remain seated until I come back,” he 
said. “ I shall not be many minutes, I am sure. I 
am convinced they are here.” And then he closed 
the cab door and left her. 

She drew out her watch and sat looking at it to 
steady herself. Her mind was not very clear as to 
how she intended to confront Mr. Gerald Chandos 
and convince Mollie. The convincing of Mollie would 
not be difficult, she was almost sure, but the confront- 
ing of Gerald Chandos was not a pleasant thing to 
think of. 

She was just turning over in her mind a stirring, 
scathing speech, when the cab door opened again, and 
Gowan stood before her. He had not been absent 
five minutes. 

“ It is as I said it would be,” he said. “ They are 
here, — at least Mollie is here. Chandos has gone 
out, and she is alone in the private parlor he has 
engaged for her. They have evidently missed their 
train. They intended to leave by the first in the 
morning. I have managed to give the impression 
that we are expected, and so we shall be shown on 
to the scene at once without any trouble.” 

And so they were. A waiter met them at the 
entrance and led them up-stairs without the slightest 
hesitation. 

“ It is not necessary to announce us,” said Gowan. 
And the man threw open the door of No. 2 with a bow. 


V A G A B ONDIA . 


271 


They crossed the threshold together without speak* 
ing, and when the door closed behind them they 
turned and looked at each other with a simultaneous 
but half-smothered exclamation. 

It was a pretty room, bright with a delicate gay- 
hued carpet and thick white rugs, numerous mirrors 
and upholstering of silver-gray and blue. There was 
a clear-burning fire in the highly polished steel-grate, 
and one of the blue and silver-gray sofas had been 
drawn up to it, and there, upon this sofa, lay Mollie 
with her hand under her cheek, sleeping like a baby. 

They were both touched to the heart by the mere 
sight of her. There was something in the perfect 
repose of her posture and expression that was childish 
and restful. It was a difficult matter to realize that 
she was sleeping on the brink of ruin and desolation. 
Something bright gathered on Dolly’s lashes and 
slipped down her cheek as she looked at her. 

“ Thank God, . we have found her ! ” she said. 
u Just to think that she should be sleeping like that, 
— as if she was at home. If she was two years 
old she might wear just such a look.” 

Gowan hardly liked to stand by as she went toward 
the sofa. The girl’s face, under the coquettish hat, 
seemed to grow womanly, her whole figure seemed to 
soften as she knelt down upon the carpet by the 
couch and laid her hand upon Mollie’ s shoulder, 
speaking to her gently. 


272 


VAGABONDIA. 


“Mollie,” she said, “dear, waken” 

Just that, and Mollie started up with a faint cry, 
dazzled by the light, and rubbing her eyes and her 
soft, flushed cheeks, just as she had done the night 
Gowan surprised her asleep in the parlor. 

“ Dolly,” she cried out, when she saw who was with 
her, — “ Dolly,” in a half-frightened voice, “ why did 
you come here ? ” 

“ I came to take you home,” answered Dolly, trem- 
ulously, but firmly. “Thank God! I am not too 
late ! Oh, Mollie, Mollie, how could you ? ” 

Mollie sat up among her blue and gray cushions 
and stared at her for a moment, as if she was not 
wide enough awake to realize what she meant. But 
the next instant she caught sight of Ralph Gowan, 
and that roused her fully, and she flushed scarlet. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “ I don’t 
know what you mean by coming here in this way. 
And I don’t know what Mr. Gowan means by bring- 
ing you, — for I feel sure he has brought you. I am 
not a baby, to be followed as if I could not take care 
of myself. I am going to be married to Mr. Gerald 
Chandos to-morrow, and we are going on the Conti- 
nent for our wedding tour.” 

She was in a high state of rebellion. It was 
Gowan’s presence she was resenting, not Dolly’s. To 
tell the truth, she was rather glad to see Dolly. She 
had begun to feel the loneliness of her position, and it 


VAGABONDIA . 


273 


had half intimidated her. But the sight of Gowan 
roused her spirit. What right had he to come and 
interfere with her, since he did not care for her and 
thought she was nothing but a child ? It made her 
feel like a child. She turned her back to him openly 
as she spoke to Dolly. 

“ I am going to be married in the morning,” she 
repeated ; “ and we are going to Brussels.” 

Then, in her indignation against Mr. Gerald Chan- 
dos, Dolly fired a little herself. 

“ And has it never occurred to you,” she said, 
“that it is rather a humiliating thing this running 
away, as if you knew you were doing something dis- 
graceful ? May I ask what reason Mr. Gerald Chan- 
dos gives for asking you to submit to such an insult, 
for it is an insult ? ” 

“ He has very good reasons,” answered Mollie, 
beginning to falter all at once, as the matter was pre- 
sented to her in this new and trying light. “He has 
very good reasons, — something about business and 

— and his family, and he does not intend to insult 
me. He is very fond of me and very proud of me, 
and he is going to try to make me very happy. He 

— he has bought me a beautiful trousseau — ” And 
then, seeing the two exchange indignant yet pitying 
glances, she broke off suddenly and burst forth as if 
she was trying to hide in anger the subtle, mysterious 
fear which was beginning to creep upon her. “ How 

18 


274 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


dare you look at each other so!” she cried. “How 
dare you look at me so ! I have done nothing wrong. 
He says many other people do the same thing and — 
and I won’t be looked at so. I shall not tell you 
another word. You — you look as if I was going to 
do something wicked and dreadful.” And she flung 
herself face downward upon the sofa cushions and 
broke into a passionate, excited sob. 

Then Dolly could control herself no longer. She 
flashed out into a storm of wrath and scorn against 
this cool, systematic scoundrel, who would have 
wrought such harm against such simple ignorance of 
the world. What had they not saved her from, poor, 
foolish child ? She clenched her little, gloved hand 
and struck it against the sofa arm, the hot color 
flaming up on her cheeks and the fire lighting in her 
eyes. 

“ Mollie ! ” she exclaimed, “ that is what is true ! 
You are going to do something that is dreadful to 
think of, though you do not think so because you do 
not know the truth. And we have come to tell you 
the truth and save you. That man is a villain, — he 
is the worst of villains. He does not intend to marry 
you, — he cannot marry you, and, knowing he cannot, 
he has been laying traps for months to drag you down 
into a horrible pit of shame. Yes, of the bitterest 
grief and shame, — poor, simple child as you are, — 
for I must tell you the whole dreadful truth, though 


VAGABONDIA. 


275 


I would iar rather hide it from you, if I could. There 
are some wicked, wicked men in the world, Mollie, 
and Gerald Chandos is one of the worst, for he has 
got a wife already.” 

It did not seem to be Mollie who sprang up from 
her cushions and confronted them with wide-opened 
eyes. Every bit of color had died out of her cheeks 
and lips, and she turned from one to the other with a 
wild, appealing look. 

“ It is n’t true,” she insisted, desperately ; but her 
voice was broken, and she sobbed out her words in 
her fright. “ It is n’t true ! It is n’t true ! You want 
to frighten me.” And all at once she ran to Ralph 
Gowan like a child, and caught hold of his arm with 
her pretty, shaking hands. “ Mr. Gowan,” she said, 
“ you know, don’t you ? and you won’t — you won’t — 
Oh, where is Aimee ? I want Aimee ! Aimee is n’t 
like the rest of you ! She would have made me go 
home without being so cruel as this.” And the 
next minute she turned so white and staggered so, 
that Dolly ran to her, and Gowan was obliged to take 
her in his arms. 

“ Tell her that what I have said is true,” said Dolly, 
crying. ' She will begin to understand then.” 

And so, while he held her, panting and sobbing and 
clinging to him, Gowan told her all that he had 
learned. He was as brief as possible and as tender 
as a woman. His heart so warmed toward the pretty, 


276 


VAGABONDIA. 


lovable, passionately frightened creature, that his voice 
was far from steady as he told his story. 

She did not rebel an instant longer, then. Her 
terror, under the shock, rendered her only helpless 
and hysterical. She had so far lost control over her- 
self that she would have believed anything they had 
chosen to tell her. 

“ Take me away,” she cried, whitening and shiver- 
ing, all her bright, pretty color gone, all her wilful 
petulance struck down at a blow. “ Take me home, 
— take me home to Aimee. I want to go away 
from here before he comes. I want to go home and 
die.” 

How they got her down-stairs and into the carriage, 
Dolly scarcely knows. It was enough that they got 
her there and knew she was safe. Upon the table in 
the room above they had left a note directed to Mr. 
Gerald Chandos, — Dolly had directed it and Dolly 
had written it. 

“ Is there pen and ink here ? ” she had asked 
Gowan ; and when he had produced the articles, she 
had bent over the table and dashed a few lines off 
with an unsteady yet determined hand. 

“ There ! ” she had said, when she closed the enve- 
lope. “ Mr. Chandos will go to Brussels, I think, and 
he will understand why he goes alone, and, for my 
part, I incline to the belief that he will not trouble 
us again.” 


VAGABOND! A , 


277 


And in five minutes more they were driving toward 
Bloomsbury Place. 

But now the first excitement was over, Dolly’s 
nerve began to fail her. Now that Mollie was safe, she 
began to think of Griffith. It seemed a cruel trick 
of fortune’s to try his patience so sharply just at this 
very point. She knew so well what effect his hours 
of waiting would have upon him. But it was useless 
to rebel now ; so she must bear it as well as she could, 
and trust to the result of her explanation. Yet de- 
spite her hope, every minute of the long drive seemed 
an age, and she grew feverish and restless and 
wretched. What if he had not waited, and was not 
there to listen to what she had to say ? Then there 
would be all the old trouble to face again, — perhaps 
something worse. 

“ It is nine o’clock,” she said, desperately, as they 
passed a lighted church tower. “ It is nine o’clock.” 
And she leaned back in her corner again, with her 
heart beating strongly. Her disappointment was so 
keen that she could have burst into a passion of tears. 
Her happy evening was gone, and her dream of simple 
pleasure had fled with its sacrificed hours. She could 
not help remembering this, and being quite con- 
quered by the thought, even though Mollie was 
safe. 

They had settled what to do beforehand. At the 
corner of the street Gowan was to leave them, and 


278 


VAGABONDIA . 


the two girls were to go in together, Mollie making 
her way at once to her room upon pretext of head- 
ache. A night’s rest would restore her self-control, 
and by the next morning she would be calm enough 
to face the rest, and so her wild escapade would end 
without risk of comment if she was sufficiently dis- 
creet to keep her own counsel. At present she was 
too thoroughly upset and frightened even to feel 
humiliation. 

“ Nearly half-past nine,” said Gowan, as he assisted 
them to descend to the pavement at their journey’s 
end. 

The light from an adjacent lamp showed him that 
the face under Dolly’s hat was very pale and excited, 
and her eyes were shining and large with repressed 
tears as she gave him her hand. 

“ I cannot find words to thank you just yet,” she 
said, low and hurriedly. “I wish I could; but — you 
know what you have helped me to save Mollie from 
to-night, and so you know what my gratitude must 
be. The next time I see you, perhaps, I shall be able 
to say what I wish, but now I can only say good- 
night, and — oh, God bless you ! ” And the little 
hand fairly wrung his. 

Mollie shook hands with him, trembling and almost 
reluctantly. She was pale, too, and her head drooped 
as if it would nevermore regain the old trick of wil- 
ful, regal carriage. 


VAGABONDIA. 


279 


“ You have been very kind to take so much trouble/’ 
she said. “ You were kinder than I deserved, — both 
of you.” 

“ Now,” said Dolly, when he sprang into the cab, 
and they turned away together, — “ now for getting 
into the house as quietly as possible. No,” trying 
to speak cheerily, and as if their position was no 
great matter, “ you must n’t tremble, Mollie, and you 
mustn’t cry. It is all over now, and everything 
is as commonplace and easy to manage as can be. 
You have been out, and have got the headache, and 
are going to bed. That is all. All the rest we must 
forget. Nothing but a headache, Mollie, and a head- 
ache is not much, so we won’t fret about it. If it 
had been a heartache, and sin and shame and sorrow 
— but it isn’t. But, Mollie,” they had already 
reached the house then, and stood upon the steps, 
and she turned to the girl and put a hand on each 
of her shoulders, speaking tremulously, “when you 
go up-stairs, kneel down by your bedside and say 
your prayers, and thank God that it is n’t, — thank 
God that it is n’t, with all your heart and soul.” 
And she kissed her cheek softly just as they 
heard Aimee coming down the hall to open the 
door. 

“Dolly!” she exclaimed when she saw them, 
“ where have you been ? Griffith has been here 
since five, and now he is out looking for you. I had 


280 


VA GABONDIA . 


given you up entirely, but he would not. He fancied 
you had been delayed by something” 

“ I have been delayed by something,” said Dolly, 
her heart failing her again. " And here is Mollie, with 
the headache. You had better go to bed, Mollie. How 
long is it since Grif left the house ? ” 

“ Scarcely ten minutes,” was the answer. “ It is a 
wonder you did not meet him. Oh, Dolly!” omi- 
nously, “ how unlucky you are ! ” 

Dolly quite choked in her effort to be decently 
composed in manner. 

“ I am unlucky,” she said ; and without saying more, 
she made her way into the parlor. 

She took her hat off there and tossed it on the sofa, 
utterly regardless of consequences, and then dropped 
into her chair and looked round the room. It did 
not look as she had pictured it earlier in the day. 
Its cheerfulness was gone, and it looked simply des- 
olate. The fire had sunk low in the grate, and the 
hearth was strewn with dead ashes, — somehow or 
other, everything seemed chilled and comfortless. 
She was too late for the brightness and warmth, — a 
few hours before it had been bright and warm, and 
Grif had been there waiting for her. Where was he 
now ? She dropped her face on the arm of her chair 
with a sob of disappointed feeling and foreboding. 
What if he had seen them leave Ralph Gowan, and 
had gone home! 


V A GABONDIA . 


281 


“ It’s too bad ! ” she cried. “ It is cruel / I can’t 
bear it ! Oh, Grif, do come ! ” And her tears fell 
thick and fast. 

Ten minutes later she started up with a little cry 
of joy and relief. That was his footstep upon the 
pavement, and before he had time to ring she was at 
the door. She could scarcely speak to him in her 
excitement. 

“ Oh, Grif ! ” she said ; “ Grif — darling ! ” 

But he did not offer to touch her, and strode past 
her outstretched hands. 

“ Come into this room with me,” he said, hoarsely ; 
and the simple sound of his voice struck her to the 
heart like a blow. 

She followed him, trembling, and when they stood 
in the light, and she saw his deathly, passion-wrung 
face, her hand crept up to her side and pressed 
against it. 

He had a package in his hand, — a package of let- 
ters, — and he laid them down on the table. 

“ I have been home for these,” he said. “ Your 
letters, — I have brought them back to you.” 

“ Grif ! ” she cried out. 

He waved her back. 

“No,” he said, “ never mind that. It is too late for 
that now, that is all over. Good God ! all over ! ” and 
he panted for breath. “ I have been in this room 
waiting for you,” he struggled on, “ since five o’clock. 


282 


VAGAB0ND1A . 


I came with my heart full to the brim. I have 
dreamt about what this evening was to be to us 
every night for a week. I was ready to kneel and 
kiss your feet. I waited hour after hour. I was ready 
to pray — yes, to pray , like a fool — that I might hold 
you in my arms before the night ended. Not half an 
hour ago I went out to see if you were coming. And 
you were coming. At the corner of the street you 
were bidding good-night to — to Ealph Gowan — ” 

“ Listen ! ” she burst forth. “ .Mollie was with 
me — 

“ Ealph Gowan was with you,” he answered her ; 
“ it does not matter who else was there. You had 
spent those hours in which I wanted you with him. 
That was enough, — nothing can alter that.” And 
then all at once he came and stood near her, and 
looked down at her with such anguish in his eyes 
that she could have shrieked aloud. “ It was a poor 
trick to play, Dolly,” he said ; “ so poor a one, that it 
was scarcely like you. Your coquetries had always 
a fairer look. The commonest jilt might have done 
such a thing as that, and almost have done it better. 
It is an old trick, too, this playing the poor fool 
against the rich one. The only merit of your play 
has been that you have kept it up so long.” 

He was almost mad, but he might have seen that 
he was trying her too far, and that she would break 
down all at once. The long strain of the whole even* 


VAGABONDIA . 


283 


ing ; his strange, unnatural mood; her struggle against 
wretchedness — all were too much for her to bear. 
She tried to speak, and, failing, fought for strength, 
sobbed thrice, a terrible, hysterical sob, like a child’s, 
and then turned white and shivered, without uttering 
a word. 

“Yes,” he said, “a long time, Dolly” — but his 
sentence was never ended, for that instant she went 
down as if she had been shot, and lay near his feet 
quivering for a second, and then lying still. 

He was not stayed even then. He bent down and 
lifted her in his arms and carried her to the sofa, pale 
himself, but not relenting. He seemed to have lived 
past the time when the pretty, helpless figure, in all 
its simple finery, would have stirred him to such ec- 
stasy of pain. He was mad enough to have believed 
even her helplessness a lie, only that the cruel, ivory 
pallor was so real. He did not even stoop to kiss 
her when he turned aw T ay. But all the treasure of 
faith and truth and love had died out of his face, the 
veriest dullard could have seen ; his very youth had 
dropped away from him, and he left the old, innocent 
dreams behind, with something like self-scorn. 

“Good-by,” he said; “we have lost a great deal, 
Dolly — or I have lost it, I might say. And even 
you — I believe it pleased even you until better 
fortune came ; so, perhaps, you have lost something, 
too.” 


284 


VAGABONDIA. 


Then he went to the bell and touched it, and, 
having done so, strode out into the narrow hall, 
opened the front door and was gone ; and when, a few 
minutes later, Aimee came running down to answer 
the strange summons, she found only the silent room, 
Dolly’s white, piteous face upon the sofa-cushion, 
and the great package of those old, sweet, foolish 
letters upon the table. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


A DEAD LETTEK. 

I T was all over, — all over at last. 

Dolly’s first words had said this much when 
she opened her eyes, and found Aimee bending over 
her. 

“Has he gone?” she had asked. “Did he go 
away and leave me ? ” 

“ Do you mean Grif ? ” said Aimee. 

She made a weak gesture of assent. 

“Yes,” Aimee answered. “He must have gone. 
I heard the hell ring, and found you lying here when 
I came to see what it meant.” 

“ Then,” said Dolly, “ all is over, — all is over at 
last.” And she turned her face upon the cushion 
and lay so still that she scarcely seemed to breathe. 

“ Take another drink of water, Dolly,” said Aimee, 
keeping back her questions with her usual discretion. 
“ You must, dear.” 

But Dolly did not stir. 

“ I don’t want any more,” she said. “ I am not 
going to faint again. You have no need to be afraid. 


286 


VAGABONDIA. 


I don’t easily faint, you know, and I should not have 
fainted just now only — that the day has been a 
very hard one for me, and somehow I lost strength 
all at once. I am not ill, — only worn out.” 

“You must be very much worn out, then,” said 
Aimee ; “ more worn out than I ever saw you before. 
You had better let me help you up-stairs to bed.” 

“ I don’t want to go to bed yet ! ” in a strange, 
choked voice, and the next moment Aimee saw her 
hands clench themselves and her whole frame begin 
to shake. “Shut the door and lock it,” she said, 
wildly. “I can’t stop myself. Give me some sal 
volatile. I can’t breathe.” And such a fit of suffo- 
cating sobbing came upon her that she writhed and 
battled for air. 

Aimee flung herself upon her knees by her side, 
shedding tears herself. 

“ Oh, Dolly,” she pleaded, “ Dolly, darling, don’t. 
Try to help yourself against it. I know what the 
trouble is. He went away angry and disappointed, 
and it has frightened you. Oh, please don’t, darling. 
He will come back to-morrow ; he will, indeed. He 
always does, you know, and he will be so sorry.” 

“He has gone forever,” Dolly panted, when she 
could speak. “ He will never come back. To-night 
has been different from any other time. No,” gasping 
and sobbing, “it is fate. Fate is against us, — it 
always was against us. I think God is against us ; 


VAGABONDIA. 


287 


and oh, how can He be ? He might pity us, — we 
tried so hard and loved each other so much. We 
did n’t ask for anything but each other, — we did n’t 
want anything but that we might be allowed to cling 
together all our lives and work and help each other. 
Oh, Grif, my darling, — oh, Grif, my dear, my dear ! ” 
And the sobs rising again and conquering her were 
such an agony that Aimee caught her in her arms. 

“ Dolly,” she said, “ you must not, you must not, 
indeed. You will die, you can’t bear it.” 

“ No,” she wailed, “ I can’t bear it, — that is what 
it is. I can’t bear it. It is too hard to bear. But 
there is no one to help me, — God won’t. He does 
not care for us, or He would have given us just one 
little crumb out of all He has to give. What can a 
poor helpless girl be to Him ? He is too high and 
great to care for our poor little powerless griefs. 
Oh, how wicked I am ! ” in a fresh burst. “ See how 
I rebel at the first real blow. It is because I am so 
wicked, perhaps, that all has been taken from me, — 
all I had in the world. It is because I loved Grif 
best. I have read in books that it was always so. 
Oh, why is it ? I can’t understand it. It seems 
cruel, — yes, it does seem cruel, — as cruel as death, 
to give him to me only that I might suffer when he 
was taken away. Oh, Grif, my darling ! Grif, my 
love, my dear ! ” 

This over again and again, with wild, heart-broken 


288 


VAGABONDIA. 


weeping, until she was so worn out that she could 
cry no more, and lay upon Aimee’s arm upon the 
cushion, white and exhausted, with heavy purple 
rings about her wearied, sunken eyes. It was not 
until then that Aimee heard the whole truth. She 
had only been able to guess at it before, and now, 
hearing the particulars, she could not help fearing 
the worst. 

It was just as she had feared it would be; another 
blow had come upon him at the very time when he 
was least able to bear it, and it had been too much 
for him. But she could not reveal her forebodings 
to Dolly. She must comfort her and persuade her to 
hope for the best. 

“ You must go to bed, Dolly,” she said, “ and try 
to sleep, and in the morning everything will look 
different. He may come, you know, — it would be 
just like him to come before breakfast. But if he 
does not come — suppose,” hesitatingly, — “ suppose 
I was to write to him, or — suppose you were to ? ” 

She was half afraid that pride would rise against 
this plan, but she was mistaken. Seven years of 
love had mastered pride. Somehow or other, pride 
had never seemed to come between them in their 
little quarrels, each had always been too passionately 
eager to concede, and too sure of being met with 
tenderest penitence. Dolly had always known too 
confidently that her first relenting word would touch 


VAGABONDIA. 


289 


Grif’s heart, and Grif had always been sure that 
his first half-softened reproach would bring the girl 
to his arms in an impetuous burst of loving repent- 
ance. No, it was scarcely likely that other people’s 
scruples would keep them apart. So Dolly caught 
at the proposal almost eagerly. 

“ Yes,” she said, “ I will write and tell him how it 
was. It was not his fault, was it, Aimee? How 
could I have borne such a thing myself? It would 
have driven me wild, as it did him. It was not un- 
reasonable at all that he should refuse to listen, in his 
first excitement, after he had waited all those hours 
and suffered such a disappointment. And then to see 
what he did. My poor boy ! he was not to blame at 
all. Yes, yes,” feverishly, “ I will write to him and 
tell him. Suppose I write now — don’t you think I 
had better do it now, and then he will get the letter 
in the morning, and he will be sure to come before 
dinner, — he will be sure to come, won’t he ? ” 

“ He always did,” said Aimee. 

“ Always,” said Dolly. “ Indeed, I never had to write 
to him before to bring him. He always came with- 
out being written to. There never was any one like 
him for being tender and penitent. You always said so, 
Aimee. And just think how often I have tried his 
patience ! I sometimes wish I could help doing 
things, — flirting, you know, and making a joke of it. 
He never flirted in his life, poor darling, and what 
19 


290 


VAGABONDIA. 


right had I to do it ? When he comes to-morrow 1 
will tell him how sorry I am for everything, and 
I will promise to be better. I have not been half so 
good as he has. I wish I had. I should not have 
hurt him so often if I had.” 

"You have been a little thoughtless sometimes,” 
said Aimee. “ Perhaps it would have been better if 
you could have helped it.” 

“ A little thoughtless,” said Dolly, restlessly. “ I 
have been wickedly thoughtless sometimes. And I 
have made so many resolutions and broken them all. 
And I ought to have been doubly thoughtful, because 
he had so much to bear. If he had been prosperous 
and happy it would not have mattered half so much. 
But it was all my vanity. You don't know how vain 
I am, Aimee. I quite hate myself when I think of it. 
It is the wanting people to admire me, — everybody, 
men and women, and even children, — particularly 
among Lady Augusta’s set, where there is a sort of 
fun in it. And then I flirt before I know ; and then, 
of course, Grif cannot help seeing it. I wonder that 
he has borne with me so long.” 

She was quite feverish in her anxiety to condemn 
herself and exculpate her lover. She did not droop 
her face against the pillow, but roused herself, turn- 
ing toward Aimee, and talking fast and eagerly. A 
bright spot of color came out on either cheek, though 
for the rest she was pale enough. But to Aim^e’s 


VA GABONDIA . 


291 


far-seeing eyes there was something so forced and 
unnaturally strung in her sudden change of mood 
that she felt a touch of dread. Suppose something 
should crush her newly formed hopes, — something 
terrible and unforeseen ! She felt a chill strike her 
to the heart at the mere thought of such a possibility. 
She knew Dolly better than the rest of them did, — 
knew her highly strung temperament, and feared it, 
too. She might be spirited and audacious and 
thoughtless, but a blow coming through Grif would 
crush her to the earth. 

“You — you mustn’t set your heart too much 
upon his getting the letter in the morning, Dolly,” 
she said. “ He might be away when it came, or — 
or twenty things, and he might not see it until night, 
but—” 

“ Well,” said Dolly, “ I will write it at once if you 
will give me the pen and ink. The earlier it is posted 
the earlier he will get it.” 

She tried to rise then ; but when she stood up her 
strength seemed to fail her, and she staggered and 
caught at Aimee’s arm. But the next minute she 
laughed. 

“ How queer that one little faint should make me 
so weak ! " she said. “ I am weak, — actually. I shall 
feel right enough when I sit down, though.” 

She sat down at the table with her writing 
materials, and Aimee remained upon the sofa watch- 


292 


VAGABONDIA. 


ing her. Her hand trembled when she wrote the first 
few lines, but she seemed to become steadier after- 
ward, and her pen dashed over the paper without a 
pause for a few minutes. The spot of color on her 
cheeks faded and burned by turns, — sometimes it 
was gone, and again it was scarlet, and before the 
second page was finished tears were falling soft and 
fast. Once she even stopped to wipe them away, 
because they blinded her ; but when she closed the 
envelope she did not look exactly unhappy, though 
her whole face was tremulous. 

“ He will come back,” she said, softly. “ He will 
come back when he reads this, I know. I wish it was 
to-morrow. To-morrow night he will be here, and we 
shall have our happy evening after all. I can excuse 
myself to Miss MacDowlas for another day.” 

“Yes,” said Aimee, a trifle slowly, as she took it 
from her hand. “ I will send Belinda out with it 
now.” And she carried it out of the room. 

In a few minutes she returned. “ She has taken 
it,” she said. “ And now you had better go to bed, 
Dolly.” 

But Dolly’s color had faded again, and she was 
resting her forehead upon her hands, with a heavy, 
anxious, worn look, which spoke of sudden reaction. 
She lifted her face with a half-absent air. 

“ I hope it will be in time for to-night’s post,” she 
said. “ Do you think it will ? ” 


VAGABONDIA. 


293 


“ I am not quite sure, but I hope so. You must 
come to bed, Dolly.” 

She got up without saying more, and followed her 
out into the hall, but at the foot of the staircase she 
stopped. “ I have not seen Tod,” she said. “Let us 
go into ’Toinette’s room and ask her to let us have 
him to-night. We can carry him up-stairs without 
wakening him. I have done it many a time. I 
should like to have him in my arms to-night.” 

So they turned into Mrs. Phil’s room, and found 
that handsome young matron sitting in her dressing- 
gown before the fire, brushing out her great dark 
mantle of hair. 

“ Don’t waken Tod,” she cried out, as usual ; and 
then when she saw Dolly she broke into a whispered 
volley of wondering questions. Where in the world 
had she been ? What had she been doing with her- 
self until such an hour ? Where was Grif ? Was n’t 
he awfully vexed ? What had he said when she came 
in ? All of which inquiries the two parried as best 
they might. 

As to Tod — well, Tod turned her thoughts in 
another direction. He was a beauty, and a king, and 
a darling, and he was growing sweeter and brighter 
every day, — which comments, by the way, were 
always the first made upon the subject of the im- 
mortal Tod. He was so amiable, too, and so clever 
and so little trouble. He went to sleep in his crib 


294 


VA GABONDIA . 


every night at seven, and never awakened until 
morning. Aunt Dolly might look at him now with 
those two precious middle fingers in his little mouth. 
And Aunt Dolly did look at him, lifting the cover 
slightly, and bending over him as he lay there making 
a deep dent in his small, plump pillow, — a very king 
of babies, soft and round and warm, the white lids 
drooped and fast closed over his dark eyes, their long 
fringes making a faint shadow on his fair, smooth 
baby cheeks, the two fingers in his sweet mouth, the 
round, cleft chin turned up, the firm, tiny white pillar 
of a throat bare. 

“ Oh, my bonny baby ! ” cried Dolly, the words 
rising from the bottom of her heart, “how fair and 
sweet you are ! ” 

They managed to persuade Mrs. Phil to allow them 
to take possession of him for the night ; and when 
they went up-stairs Dolly carried him, folded warmly 
in his downy blanket, and held close and tenderly in 
her arms. 

“ Aunt Dolly’s precious ! ” Aimee heard her whis- 
pering to him as she gave him a last soft good-night 
kiss before they fell asleep. “ Aunt Dolly’s comfort ! 
Everything is not gone so long as he is left.” 

But she evidently passed a restless night. When 
Aimee awakened in the morning she found her stand- 
ing by the bedside, dressed and looking colorless and 
heavy-eyed. 


VAGABONDIA. 


295 


“ I never was so glad to see morning in my life,” 
she said. “I thought the day would never break. 
I — I wonder how long it will be before Grif will be 
reading his letter ? ” 

“He may get it before nine o’clock,” answered 
Aimee ; “ but don’t trouble about it, or the day will 
seem twice as long. Take Tod down-stairs and wash 
and dress him. It will give you something else to 
think of.” 

The wise one herself had not slept well. Truth to 
say, she was troubled about more matters than one. 
She was troubled to account for the meaning of 
Dolly’s absence with Gowan. Even in her excite- 
ment, Dolly had not felt the secret quite her own, 
and had only given a skeleton explanation of the 
true state of affairs. 

“ It was something about Mollie and Gerald Chan- 
dos,” she had said ; “ and if I had not gone it would 
have been worse than death to Mollie. Don’t ask 
me to tell you exactly what it was, because I can’t. 
Perhaps Mollie will explain herself before many days 
are over. She always tells you everything, you know. 
But it was no real fault of hers ; she was silly, but 
not wicked, and she is safe from Gerald Chandos now 
forever. And I saved her, Aimee.” 

And so the wise one had lain awake and thought 
of all sorts of possible and impossible escapades. But 
as she was dressing herself this morning, the truth 


296 


VAGABONDIA. 


flashed upon her, though it was scarcely the whole 
truth. 

“ She was going to elope with him,” she exclaimed 
all at once ; “ that was what she was going to do. Oh, 
Mollie, Mollie, what a romantic goose you are!” 

And having reached this solution, she closed her 
small, determined mouth in discreet silence, resolving 
to wait for Mollie’s confession, which she knew was 
sure to come sooner or later. As to Mollie herself, 
she came down subdued and silent. She had slept 
off the effects of her first shock, but had by no means 
forgotten it. She would never forget it, poor child, 
as long as she lived, and she was so grateful to find 
herself safe in the shabby rooms again, that she had 
very little to say ; and since she was in so novel a 
mood, the members of the family who were not in 
the secret decided that her headache must have been 
a very severe one indeed. 

“ Don’t say anything to her about Grif,” Dolly 
cautioned Aimee, “ it would only trouble her.” And 
so the morning passed; but even at twelve o’clock 
there was no Grif, and Dolly began to grow restless 
and walk to and fro from the window to the hearth 
at very short intervals. Dinner-hour arrived, too, but 
still no arrival \ and Dolly sat at the table, among 
them, eating nothing and saying little enough. How 
could she talk when every step upon the pavement 
set her heart bounding ? When dinner was over and 


V A GABONDIA . 


297 


Phil had gone back to the studio, she looked so help- 
less and woe-begone that Aimee felt constrained to 
comfort her. 

“ It may have been delayed/’ she whispered to her, 
“or he may have left the house earlier than usual, 
and so won’t see it until to-night. He will be here 
to-night, Dolly, depend upon it.” 

And so they waited. Ah, how that window was 
watched that afternoon ! How often Dolly started 
from her chair and ran to look out, half suffocated by 
her heart-beatings ! But it was of no avail. As 
twilight came on she took her station before it, and 
knelt upon the carpet for an hour watching ; but in 
the end she turned away all at once, and, running to 
the fire again, caught Tod up in her arms, and startled 
Aimee by bursting into a passion of tears. 

“ Oh, Tod ! ” she sobbed, “ he is not coming ! He 
will never come again, — he has left us forever ! Oh, 
Tod, love poor Aunt Dolly, darling.” And she hid her 
face on the little fellow’s shoulder, crying piteously. 

She did not go to the window again. When she 
was calmer, she remained on her chair, colorless and 
exhausted, but clinging to Tod still in a queer pathetic 
way, and letting him pull at her collar and her rib- 
bons and her hair. The touch of his relentless baby 
hands and his pretty, tyrannical, restless ways seemed 
to help her a little and half distract her thoughts. 

She became quieter and quieter as the evening 

j 


298 


V A GABONDIA . 


waned; indeed, she was so quiet that Aim6e wondered. 
She was strangely pale ; but she did not start when 
footsteps were heard on the street, and she ceased 
turning toward the door when it opened. 

“ He — he may come in the morning,” Aimee fal- 
tered as they went up-stairs to bed. 

“ No, he will not,” she answered her, quite steadily. 
“ It will be as I said it would, — he will never come 
again” 

But when they reached their room, the unnatural, 
strained quiet gave way, and she flung herself upon 
the bed, sobbing and fighting against just the hyster- 
ical suffering which had conquered her the night 
before. 

It was the very ghost of the old indomitable Dolly 
who rose the next morning. Her hands shook as she 
dressed her hair, and there were shadows under her 
eyes. But she must go back to Brabazon Lodge, 
notwithstanding. 

“ I can say I have a nervous headache,” she said to 
Aimee. “ Nervous headaches are useful things.” 

“ If a letter comes,” said Aimee, “ I will bring it to 
you myself.” 

The girl turned toward her suddenly, her eyes hard 
and bright and her mouth working. 

“ I have had my last letter,” she said. “ My last 
letters came to me when Grif laid that package upon 
the table. He has done with me.” 


V A G A B ONDIA . 


299 


“ Done with you ? ” cried Aimee, frightened by her 
manner. “ With you , Dolly ? ” 

Then for the first time Dolly flushed scarlet to the 
very roots of her hair. 

“ Yes,” she said, “ he has done with me. If there 
had been half a chance that he would ever come near 
me again, the letter I wrote to him that night would 
have brought him. A word of it would have brought 
him, — the first word. But he is having his revenge 
by treating it with contempt. He is showing me that 
it is too late, and that no humility on my part can 
touch him. I scarcely could have thought that of 
him,” dropping into a chair by the toilet-table and 
hiding her face in her hands. 

“ It is not like Grif to let me humble myself for 
nothing. And I did humble myself, — ah, how I did 
humble myself! That letter, — if you could have 
seen it, Aimee, — it was all on fire with love for him. 
I laid myself under his feet, — and he has trodden me 
down ! Grif — Grif, it was n’t like you, — it was n’t 
worthy of you, — it was n’t indeed ! ” 

Her worst enemy would have felt herself avenged 
if she had heard the anguish in her voice. She was 
crushed to the earth under this last great blow of 
feeling that he had altered so far. Grif, — her whilom 
greatest help and comfort, — the best gift God had 
given her ! Dear, old, tender, patient fellow ! as she 
had been wont to call him in her fits of penitence. 


300 


VAGABOND1A . 


Grif, whose arms had always been open to her at hei 
best and at her worst, who had loved her and borne 
with her, and waited upon her and done her bidding 
since they were both little more than children. When 
had Grif ever turned from her before ? Never. When 
had Grif ever been cold or unfaithful in word or deed ? 
Never. When had he ever failed her ? Never — never 
— never — until now ! And now that he had failed 
her at last, she felt that the bitter end had come. 
The end to everything, — to all the old hopes and 
dreams, to all the old sweet lovers’ quarrels and meet- 
ings and partings, to all their clinging together, to all 
the volumes and volumes of love and trust that lay 
in the past, to all the world of simple bliss that lay 
still unrevealed in their lost future, to all the blessed 
old days when they had pictured to each other what 
that future was to be. It had all gone for nothing 
in the end. It must all have gone for nothing, when 
Grif — a new Grif — not her own true, stanch, pa- 
tient darling — not her own old lover — could read 
her burning, tender, suffering words and pass them by 
without a word of answer. And with this weight of 
despair and pain upon her heart, she went back to the 
wearisome routine of Brabazon Lodge, — went back 
heavy with humiliation and misery which she scarcely 
realized, — went back suffering as no one who knew 
her — not even Grif himself — could ever have un 
derstood that it was possible for her to suffer. No 


V A GA BONDI A . 


301 


innocent coquetries now, no spirit, no jests ; for the 
present at least she had done with them, too. 

“You are not in your usual spirits, my dear,” said 
Miss MacDowlas. 

“No,” she answered, quietly, “I am not.” 

This state of affairs continued for four days, and 
then one morning, sitting at her sewing in the 
breakfast-room, she was startled almost beyond self- 
control by a servant’s announcement that a visitor 
had arrived. 

“ One of your sisters, ma’am,” said the parlor-maid. 
“ Not the youngest, I think.” 

She was in the room in two seconds, and flew to 
Aimee, trembling all over with excitement. 

“Not a letter!” she cried, hysterically. “It isn’t 
a letter, — it can’t be ! ” And she put her hand to her 
side and fairly panted. 

The poor little wise one confronted her with some- 
thing like fear. She could not bear to tell her the 
ill news she had come to break. 

“ Dolly, dear ! ” she said, “ please sit down ; and — 
please don’t look at me so. It is n’t good news. I 
must tell you the truth ; it is bad news, cruel news. 
Oh, don’t look so ! ” 

They were standing near the sofa, and Dolly gave 
one little moan, and sank down beside it. 

“ Cruel news ! ” she cried, throwing up her hand. 
“ Yes, I might have known that, — I might have 


302 


VAGABONDIA. 


known that it would be cruel, if it was news at all 
Every one is cruel, — the whole world is cruel ; even 
Grif, — even Grif ! ” 

Aimee burst into tears. 

“ Oh, Dolly, I did my best for you! ” she said. “I 
did, indeed ; but you must try to bear it, dear, — it is 
your own letter back again.” 

Then the kneeling figure seemed to stiffen and 
grow rigid in a second. Dolly turned her deathly 
face, with her eyes aflame and dilated. 

“Did he send it back to me?” she asked, in a slow, 
fearful whisper. 

Her expression was so hard and dreadful a one 
that Aim6e sprang to her side and caught hold of 
her. 

“ No, — no 1 ” she said ; “ not so bad as that ! He 
would never have done that. He has never had it. 
He has gone away ; we don’t know where. It came 
from the dead-letter office.” 

Dolly took the letter from her and opened it slowly, 
and there, as she knelt, read it, word for word, as if it 
had been something she had never seen before. Then 
she put it back into the envelope and laid it down. 

“A dead letter!” she said. “A dead letter! If 
he had sent it back to me, I think it would have cured 
me ; but now there is no cure for me at all. If he 
had read it, he would have come, — if he had only 
read it ; but it is a dead letter, and he is gone.” 


VAGABONDIA. 


303 


There were no tears, the blow had been too heavy. 
It was only Aimee who had tears to shed, and it was 
Dolly who tried to console her in a strained, weary 
sort of way. 

“ Don't cry,” she said, “ it is all over now. Perhaps 
the worst part of the pain is past. There will be no 
house at Putney, and the solitary rose-bush will 
bloom for some one else ; they may sell the green 
sofa, now, as cheap as they will, we shall never buy 
it. Our seven years of waiting have all ended in a 
dead letter.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


SEVEN LONG TEARS, BELOVED, SEVEN LONG YEARS. 
ND so Ghrif disappeared from the haunts of 



Yagabondia, and was seen no more. And to 
Aimee was left the delicate task of explaining the 
cause of his absence, which, it must be said, she did 
in a manner at once creditable to her tact and affec- 
tion for both Dolly and the unconscious cause of all 
her misery. 

“There has been a misunderstanding,” she said, 
“ which was no fault of Dolly's, and scarcely a fault 
of Grif ’s ; and it has ended very unhappily, and Grif 
has gone away, and just at present it seems as if 
everything was over, — but I can't help hoping it is 
not so bad as that.” 

“ Oh, he will come back again — safe enough,” 
commented Phil, philosophically, holding paint-brush 
No. 1 in his mouth, while he manipulated with No. 2. 
“ He will come back in sackcloth and ashes ; he is 
just that sort, you know, — thunder and lightning, 
fire and tow. And they will make it up ecstatically 
in secret, and pretend that nothing has been the 


VA GABONDIA . 


305 


matter, and there will be no going into the parlor for 
weeks without whistling all the way across the hall.” 

“ I always go in backward after they have had a 
quarrel, 1 ” said Mollie, looking up from a half-made 
pinafore of Tod's, which, in the zeal of her repentance, 
she had decided on finishing. 

“Not a bad plan, either,” said PhiL “We all 
know how their differences of opinion terminate. 
As to matters being at an end between them, that is 
all nonsense ; they could n't live without each other 
six months. Dolly would take to unbecoming bon- 
nets, and begin to neglect her back hair, and Grif 
would take to prussic acid or absinthe.” 

“Well, I hope he will come back,” said Aimee; 
“ but, in the meantime, I want to ask you to let the 
affair rest altogether, and not say a word to Dolly 
when she comes. It will be the kindest thing you 
can do. Just let things go on as they have always 
done, and ignore everything new you may see.” 

Phil looked up from his easel in sudden surprise ; 
something in her voice startled him, serenely as he 
was apt to view all unexpected intelligence. 

“ I say,” he broke out, “ you don’t mean that Dolly 
is very much cut up about it ? ” 

The fair little oracle hesitated ; remembering 
Dolly's passionate despair and grief over that “ dead 
letter,” she could scarcely trust herself to speak. 

“ Yes,” she answered at last, feeling it would be 
20 


306 


VAGABONDIA. 


best only to commit herself in Phil's own words^ 
r ‘ she is very much cut up.” 

“ Whew ! ” whistled Phil ; “ that is worse than I 
thought ! ” And the matter ended in his going back 
to his picture and painting furiously for a few min- 
utes, with an almost reflective air. 

They did not see anything of Dolly for weeks. 
She wrote to them now and then, but she did not 
pay another visit to Bloomsbury Place. It was not 
the old home to her now, and she dreaded seeing it 
in its new aspect, — the aspect which was desolate of 
Grif. Most of her letters came to Aimee ; but she 
rarely referred to her trouble, rather seeming to avoid 
it than otherwise. And the letters themselves were 
bright enough, seeming, too. She had plenty to say 
about Miss MacDowlas and their visitors and her 
own duties ; indeed, any one but Aimee would have 
been puzzled by her courage and apparent good 
spirits. But Aimee saw below the surface, and un- 
derstood, and, understanding, was fonder of her than 
ever. 

As both Dolly and herself had expected, Mollie 
did not keep her secret from the oracle many weeks. 
It was too much for her to bear alone, and one night, 
in a fit of candor and remorse, she poured out every- 
thing from first to last, all her simple and unsophisti- 
cated dreams of grandeur, all her gullibility, all her 
danger, — everything, indeed, but the story of her 


VAGABONDIA. 


30 ? 


pitiful little fancy for Ralph Gowan. She could not 
give that up, even to Aimee, though at the close of 
her confidence she was unable to help referring to 
him. 

“ And as to Mr. Gowan,” she said, “ how can I 
ever speak to him again! but, perhaps, he would not 
speak to me. He must think I am wicked and bold 
and hardened — and bad,” with a fresh sob at every 
adjective. “ Oh, dear! oh, dear!” burying her face 
in Aimee’s lap, “ if I had only stayed at home and 
been good, like you. He could have respected me, 
at least, could n’t he ? And now — oh, what am I 
to do ! ” 

Aimee could not help sighing. If she only had 
stayed at home, how much happier they all might 
have been ! But she had promised Dolly not to add 
to her unhappiness by hinting at the truth, so she 
kept her own counsel. 

It was fully three months before they saw Ralph 
Gowan again. He had gone on the Continent, they 
heard. A feeling of delicacy had prompted the jour- 
ney. As long as he remained in London, he could 
scarcely drop out of his old friendly position at 
Bloomsbury Place, and he felt that for a while at 
least Mollie would scarcely find it easy to face him. 
So he went away and rambled about until he 
thought she would have time to get over her first 
embarrassment. 


308 


VAGABONDIA. 


But at the end of the three months he came back, 
and one afternoon surprised them all by appearing 
amongst them again. Mollie, sitting perseveringly 
at work over her penitential sewing, shrank a little, 
and dropped her eyelids when he came in, but she 
managed to behave with creditable evenness of man- 
ner after all, and the rest welcomed him warmly. 

“I have been to Brabazon Lodge,” he said at 
length to Aimee. “ I spent Monday evening there, 
and was startled at the change I found in your sister. 
I did not know she was ill.” 

Aimee started herself, and looked up at him with 
a frightened face. 

“ 111 ! ” she said. “ Did you say ill ? ” 

It was his turn to be surprised then. 

“ I thought her looking ill,” he answered. “ She 
seemed to me to be both paler and thinner. But you 
must not let me alarm you, — I thought, of course, 
that you would know.” 

“ She has never mentioned it in her letters,” Aimee 
said. “ And she has not been home for three months, 
so we have not seen her.” 

“ Don't let me give you a false impression,” re- 
turned Gowan, eagerly. “She seemed in excellent 
spirits, and was quite her old self; indeed, I scarcely 
should imagine that she herself placed sufficient 
stress upon the state of her health. She insisted 
that she was well when I spoke to her about it.” 


VAGABONDIA. 


309 


“ I am very glad you told me/’ answered Aim^e. 
* She is too indifferent sometimes. I am afraid she 
would not have let us know. I thank you, very 
much.” 

He had other thanks before he left the house. As 
he was going out, Mollie, in her character of porteress, 
opened the hall door for him, and, having opened it, 
stood there with Tod’s new garment half concealed, 
a pair of timid eyes uplifted to his face, a small, 
trembling, feverish hand held out. 

“ Mr. Gowan,” she said, in a low, fluttering voice. 
“ Oh, if you please — ” 

He took the little hot hand, feeling some tender 
remorse for not having tried to draw her out more 
and help her out of her painful shyness and restraint. 

“ What is it, Mollie ? ” he asked. 

“ I want — I want,” fluttering all over, — “ I want to 
thank you better than I did that — that dreadful 
night. I was so frightened I could scarcely under- 
stand. I understand more — now — and I want to 
tell you how grateful I am — and how grateful I 
shall be until I die — and I want to ask you to try 
not to think I was very wicked. I did not mean to 
be wicked — I was only vain and silly, and I thought 
it would be such a grand thing to — to have plenty 
of new dresses,” hanging her sweet, humble face, “ and 
to wear diamonds, and be Lady Chandos, if — if Mr. 
Chandos came into the title. Of course that was 


310 


VAGABONDIA. 


wicked, but it was n’t — I was n’t as bad as I seemed. 
I was so vain that — that I was quite sure he loved 
me, and would be very glad if I married him. He 
always said he would.” And the tears rolled fast 
down her cheeks. 

“ Poor Mollie ! ” said Gowan, patting the trembling 
hand as if it had been a baby’s. “ Poor child ! ” 

“ But,” Mollie struggled on, penitently, “I shall 
never be so foolish again. And I am going to try 
to be good — like Aimee. I am learning to mend 
things ; and I am beginning to make things for Tod. 
This,” holding up her work as proof, “ is a dress for 
him. It is n’t very well done,” with innocent dubious- 
ness ; “ but Aimee says I am improving. And so, if 
you please, would you be so kind as not to think 
quite so badly of me ? ” 

It was all so humble and pretty and remorseful 
that he was quite touched by it. That old tempta- 
tion to kiss and console her made it quite dangerous 
for him to linger. She was such a lovable sight with 
her tear-wet cheeks, and that dubious but faithfully 
worked-at garment of Tod’s in her hand. 

“ Mollie,” he said, “ will you believe what I say to 
you ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” eagerly. 

“Then I say to you that I never believed you 
wicked for an instant, — not for one instant; and now 
I believe it less than ever ; on the contrary, I believe 


VAGABONDIA. 


311 


you are a good, honest little creature. Let us for* 
get Gerald Chandos, — he is not worth remembering. 
And go on with Tod’s pinafores and dresses, my dear, 
and don’t be discouraged if they are a failure at first, 
— though to my eyes that dress is a most sumptuous 
affair. And as to being like Aimee, you cannot be 
like any one better and wiser and sweeter than that 
same little maiden. There ! I mean every word I 
have said.” 

“ Are you sure ? ” faltered Mollie. 

“ Yes,” he replied, “ quite sure.” 

He shook hands with her, and, bidding her good- 
night, left her standing in the narrow hall all aglow 
with joy. And he, outside, was communing with 
himself as he walked away. 

“ She is as sweet in her way as — as the other,” he 
was saying. “ And as well worth loving. And what 
a face she has, if one only saw it with a lover’s eyes ! 
What a face she has, even seeing it with such impar- 
tial eyes as mine ! ” 


“ My dear Dolly ! ” said Aimee. 

“ My dear Aimee ! ” said Dolly. 

These were the first words the two exchanged when, 
the evening after Ralph Gowan’s visit, the anxious 
young oracle presented herself at Brabazon Lodge, 
and was handed into Dolly’s bedroom. 


312 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


Visitors were expected, and Dolly had been dres ■ 
ing, and was just putting the finishing touches to her 
toilet when Aimee came in, and, seeing her as she 
turned from the glass to greet her, the wise one could 
scarcely speak, and, even after she had been kissed 
most heartily, could only hold the girl’s 1 >nd and 
stand looking up into her changed face, feeling 
almost shocked. 

“ Oh, dear me, Dolly ! ” she said again. “ Oh, my 
dear, what have you been doing to yourself ? ” 

“ Doing!” echoed Dolly, just as she would have 
spoken three or four months ago. "I have been 
doing nothing, and rather enjoying it. What is the 
matter with me ? ” glancing into the mirror. “ Pale ? 
That is the result of Miss MacDowlas’s beneficence, 
you see. She has presented me with this grand black 
silk gown, and it makes me look pale. Black always 
did, you know.” 

But notwithstanding her readiness of speech, it did 
not need another glance to understand what Ralph 
Gowan had meant when he said that she was altered. 
The lustreless heavy folds of her black silk might 
contrast sharply with her white skin, but they could 
not bring about that subtle, almost incomprehensible 
change in her whole appearance. It was such a 
subtle change that it was difficult to comprehend. 
The round, lissome figure she had always been so 
pardonably vain about, and Grif had so admired, had 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


313 


fallen a little, giving just a hint at a greater change 
which might show itself sooner or later ; her face 
seemed a trifle more clearly cut than it ought to have 
been, and the slender throat, set in its surrounding 
Elizabethan frill of white, seemed more slender than 
it had used to be. Each change w T as slight enough 
in itself, but all together gave a shadowy suggestion 
of alteration to affectionately quick eyes. 

“ You are ill,” said Aimee. “ And you never told 
me. It was wrong of you. Don’t tell me it is your 
black dress ; your eyes are too big and bright for any 
one who is well, and your hand is thinner than it 
ever was before. Why, I can feel the difference as I 
hold it, and it is as feverish as it can be.” 

“ You good, silly little thing ! ” said Dolly, laugh- 
ing. “ I am not ill at all. I have caught a cold, per- 
haps, but that is all.” 

“No you have not,” contradicted Aimee, with piti- 
ful sharpness. “ You have not caught cold, and you 
must not tell me so. You are ill, and you have been 
ill for weeks. The worst of colds could never make 
you look like this. Mr. Gowan might well be 
startled and wonder — ” 

“ Mr. Gowan ! ” Dolly interrupted her. " Did he 
say that he was startled ? ” 

“ Yes, he did,” Aimee answered. “And that was 
what brought me here. He was at Bloomsbury Place 
last night and told me all about you, and I made up 


314 


VAGABONDIA. 


my mind that minute that I would come and judge 
for myself.” 

Then the girl gave in. She sat down on a chair 
by the dressing-table and rested her forehead on her 
hand, laughing faintly, as if in protest against her 
own subjugation. 

“Then I shall have to submit,” she said. “The 
fact is, I sometimes fancy I do feel weaker than I 
ought to. It is n’t like me to be weak. I was always 
so strong, you know, — stronger than all the rest of 
you, I thought. Miss MacDowlas says I do not look 
well. I suppose,” with a half-sigh, “ that every one 
will see it soon. Aimee,” hesitating, “ don’t tell them 
at home.” 

Aimee slipped an arm around her, and drew her 
head — dressed in all the old elaborateness of pretty 
coils and braids — upon her own shoulder. 

“Darling,” she whispered, trying to restrain her 
tears, “ I must tell them at home, because I must take 
you home to be nursed.” 

“No, no !” said Dolly, starting, “ that would never 
do. It would never do even to think of it. I am not 
so ill as that, — not ill enough to be nursed. Besides,” 
her voice sinking all at once, “ I could n’t go home, 
Aimee, — I could not bear to go home now. That is 
why I have stayed away so long. I believe it would 
kill me ! ” 

It was impossible for Aimee to hear this and be 


VAGABONDIA. 


315 


silent longer. She had, indeed, only been waiting for 
some reference to the past. 

“ I knew it was that,” she cried. “ I knew it the 
moment Mr. Gowan told me. And I have feared it 
from the first. Nothing but that could have broken 
you down like this. Dolly, if Grif could see you 
now, he would give his heart’s blood to undo what he 
has done.” 

The pale little hands lying upon the black dress 
began to tremble in a strange, piteous weakness. 

“ One cannot forget so much in so short a time,” 
Dolly pleaded. “ And it is so much, — more than 
even you think. One cannot forget seven years in 
three months, — give me seven months, Aimee. I 
shall be better in time, when I have forgotten.” 

Forgotten! Even those far duller of perception 
than Aimee could have seen that she would not soon 
forget. She had not begun in the right way to forget. 
The pain which had made the pretty figure and the 
soft, round face look faintly worn, was sharper to-day 
than it had been even three months before, and it was 
gaining in sharpness every day, nay, every hour. 

“ The days are so long,” she said, plaiting the silk 
of her dress on the restless hands. u We are so quiet, 
except when we have visitors, and somehow visitors 
begin to tire me. I scarcely ever knew what it was 
to be tired before. I don’t care even to scatter the 
Philistines now,” trying to smile. “ I am not even 


316 


VAGABONDIA. 


roused by the prospect of meeting Lady Augusta to- 
night. I forgot to tell you she was coming, did n’t I ? 
How she would triumph if she knew how I have fallen 
and — and how miserable I am ! She used to say I 
had not a thought above the cut of my dresses. She 
never knew about — him , poor fellow ! ” 

It was curious to see how she still clung to that 
tender old pitying way of speaking of Grif. 

Aimee began to cry over her again. 

“You must come home, Dolly,” she said. “You 
must, indeed. You will get worse and worse if you 
stay here. I will speak to Miss MacDowlas myself. 
You say she is kind to you.” 

“ Dear little woman,” said . Dolly, closing her eyes 
as she let her head rest upon the girl’s shoulder. 
“ Dear, kind little woman ! indeed it will be best for 
me to stay here. It is as I said, — indeed it is. If I 
were to go home 1 should die ! Oh, don’t you know 
how cruel it would be ! To sit there in my chair and 
see his old place empty, — to sit and hear the people 
passing in the street and know I should never hear 
his footstep again, — to see the door open again and 
again, and know he would never, never pass through. 
It would break my heart, — it would break my heart ! ” 
“ It is broken now ! ” cried Aimee, in a burst of 
grief, and she could protest no more. 

But she remained as long as she well could, petting 
and talking to her. She knew better than to offer 


VA GABONDIA . 


317 


her threadbare commonplace comfort, so she took 
refuge in talking of life at Bloomsbury Place, — about 
Tod and Mollie and ’Toinette, and the new picture 
Phil was at work .upon. But it was a hard matter for 
her to control herself sufficiently to conceal that she 
was almost in an agony of anxiousness and forebod- 
ing. What was she to do with this sadly altered 
Dolly, the mainspring of whose bright, spirited life 
was gone ? How was she to help her if she could not 
restore Grif, — it was only Grif she wanted, — and 
where was he ? It was just as she had always said it 
would be, — without Grif, Dolly was Dolly no longer, 
— for Grif ’s sake her faithful, passionate girl’s heart 
was breaking slowly. 

Lady Augusta, encountering her ex-governess in the 
drawing-room that evening, raised her eyeglass to that 
noble feature, her nose, and condescended a question- 
ing inspection, full of disapproval of the heavy, well- 
falling black silk and the Elizabethan frill. 

“ You are looking shockingly pale and thin,” she 
said. 

Dolly glanced at her reflection in an adjacent mir- 
ror. She only smiled faintly, in silence. 

“ I was not aware that you were ill,” proceeded her 
ladyship. 

“I cannot say that I am ill,” Dolly answered. 
i( How is Phemie ? ” 

“Euphemia,” announced Lady Augusta, “ is well, 


318 


VAGABONDIA. 


and I trust? as if she rather doubted her having so 
far overcome old influences of an evil nature, — “ I 
trust improving, though I regret to hear from her 
preceptress that she is singularly deficient in appli- 
cation to her musical lessons.” 

Dolly thought of the professor with the lumpy face, 
and smiled again. Phemie’s despairing letters to 
herself sufficiently explained why her progress was 
so slow. 

“I hope,” said her ladyship to Miss MacDowlas, 
afterward, “that you are satisfied with Dorothea’s 
manner of filling her position in your household.” 

“ I never was so thoroughly satisfied in my life,” 
returned the old lady, stiffly. “ She is a very quick- 
witted, pleasantly natured girl, and I am extremely 
fond of her.” 

“ Ah,” waving a majestic and unbending fan of 
carved ivory. “ She has possibly improved then. I 
observe that she is going off very much, — in the mat- 
ter of looks, I mean.” 

“ I heard a gentleman remark, a few minutes ago,” 
replied Miss MacDowlas, “ that the girl looked like a 
white rose, and I quite agreed with him ; but I am 
fond of her, as I said, and you are not.” 

Her ladyship shuddered faintly, but she did not 
make any further comment, perhaps feeling that her 
hostess was too powerful to encounter. 

At midnight the visitors went their several ways, 


VA GABONDIA . 


319 


and after they had dispersed and the rooms were 
quiet once again, Miss MacDowlas sent her compan- 
ion to bed, or, at least, bade her good-night. 

“ You had better go at once,” she said. “ I will 
remain to give orders to the servants. You look 
tired. The excitement has been too much for you.” 

So Dolly thanked her and left the room ; but Miss 
MacDowlas did not hear her ascend the stairs, and 
accordingly, after listening a moment or so, went to 
the room door and looked out into the hall. And 
right at the foot of the staircase lay Dolly Crewe, 
the lustreless, trailing black dress making her skin 
seem white as marble, her pretty face turned half 
downward upon her arm. 

Half an hour later the girl returned to conscious- 
ness to find herself lying comfortably in bed, the 
chamber empty save for herself and Miss MacDowlas, 
who was standing at her side watching her. 

“ Better?” she said. “That is right, my dear. 
The evening was too much for you, as I was afraid 
it would be. You are not as strong as you should 
be.” 

“No,” Dolly answered, quietly. 

There was a silence of a few minutes, during which 
she closed her eyes again; but she heard Miss Mac- 
Dowlas fidgeting a little, and at last she heard her 
speak. 

“ My dear,” she said, “ I think I ought to tell you 


320 


VAGABONDIA. 


something. When you fell, I suppose you must 
somehow or other have pressed the spring of your 
locket, for it was open when I went to you, and — I 
saw the face inside it.” 

“ Grif,” said Dolly, in a tired voice, “ Grif.” 

And then she remembered how she had written to 
him about what this very denouement would be when 
it came. How strange, how wearily strange, it was 
to think that it should come about in such a way as 
this ! 

“My nephew,” said Miss MacDowlas. “ Griffith 
Donne.” 

“Yes,” said Dolly, briefly. “I was engaged to 
him.” 

“Was!” echoed Miss MacDowlas. “Did he be- 
have badly to you, my dear ? ” 

“ No, I behaved badly to him — and that is why I 
am ill.” 

Miss MacDowlas blew her nose. 

“ How long ? ” she asked, at length. “ May I ask 
how long you were engaged to each other, my dear ? 
Don’t answer me if you do not wish.” 

“ I was engaged to him,” faltered the girlish voice, 
— “we were all the world to each other for seven 
years — for seven long years.” 


CHAPTEK XV. 


IN WHICH WE TRY SWITZERLAND. 

I N' the morning of one of the hot days in June, 
Mollie, standing at the window of Phil’s studio, 
turned suddenly toward the inmates of the room with 
an exclamation. 

“ Phil ! ” she said, “ ’Toinette ! There is a carriage 
drawing up before the door.” 

“Lady Augusta?” said ’Toinette, making a dart at 
Tod. 

“Confound Lady Augusta!” ejaculated Phil, de- 
voutly. “That woman has a genius for presenting 
herself at inopportune times.” 

“ But it is n’t Lady Augusta,” Mollie objected. “It 
is n’t the Bilberry carriage at all. Do you think I 
don’t know ‘ the ark ’ ? ” 

“You ought to by this time,” returned Phil. “I 
do, to my own deep grief.” 

“ It is the Brabazon Lodge carriage ! ” cried Mollie, 
all at once. “ Miss MacDowlas is getting out, and 
— yes, here is Dolly!” 

“ And Tod just washed and dressed ! ” said Mrs. 
21 


322 


VAGABONDIA . 


Phil, picking up her offspring with an air of self- 
congratulation. “ Miracle of miracles ! The Fates be- 
gin to smile upon us. Phil, how is my back hair?” 

“ All right,” returned Phil. “ I suppose I shall 
have to present myself, too.” 

It was necessary that they should all present them- 
selves, they found. Miss MacDowlas wished to form 
the acquaintance of the whole family, it appeared, 
and apart from this her visit had rather an important 
object. 

“It is a sort of farewell visit,” she explained, 
“ though, of course, the farewell is only to be a tem- 
porary one. We find London too hot for us, and we 
are going to try Switzerland. The medical man 
thinks a change will be beneficial to your sister.” 

They all looked at Dolly then, — at Dolly in her 
delicate, crisp summer bravery and her pretty summer 
hat ; but it was neither hat nor dress that drew their 
eyes upon her all at once in that new questioning 
way. But Dolly only laughed, — a soft, nervous 
laugh, however, — and played with her much-frilled 
parasol. 

“ Miss MacDowlas,” she said, “ is good enough to 
fancy I am not so well as I ought to be. Tod,” bend- 
ing her face low over the pretty little fellow, who had 
trotted to her knee. “ What do you think of Aunt 
Dolly’s appearing in the character of invalid? It 
sounds like the best of jokes, doesn’t it, Tod?” 


VAGABONDIA. 


323 


They tried to smile responsively, all of them, but 
the effort was not a success. Despite all her pretence 
of brightness and coquettish attire, there was not one 
of them who had not been startled when their first 
greeting was over. Under the triumph of a hat, her 
face showed almost sharply cut, her skin far too 
transparently colorless, her eyes much too large and 
bright. The elaborately coiled braids of hair seemed 
almost too heavy for the slender throat to bear, and 
no profusion of trimming could hide that the little 
figure was worn. The flush and glow and spirit had 
died away from her. It was not the Dolly who had 
been wont to pride herself upon ruling supreme in 
Vagabondia, who sat there before them making them 
wonder ; it was a new creature, who seemed quite a 
stranger to them. 

They were glad to see how fond of her Miss Mac- 
Dowlas appeared to be. They had naturally not had 
a very excellent opinion of Miss MacDowlas in the 
past days ; but the fact that Dolly had managed to so 
win upon her as to bring out her best side, quite soft- 
ened their hearts. She was not so grim, after all. 
Her antipathy to Grif had evidently been her most 
unpleasant peculiarity, and now, seeing her care for 
this new Dolly, who needed care so much, they were 
rather touched. 

When the farewells had been said, the carriage had 
driven away, and they had returned to the studio, a 


324 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


silence seemed to fall upon them, one and all. Toi- 
nette sat in her chair, holding Tod, without speaking ; 
Mollie stood near her with a wondering, downcast air ; 
Phil went to the window, and, neglecting his picture 
wholly for the time being, looked out into the street, 
whistling softly. 

At length he turned round to Aimee. 

“ Aimee,” he said, abruptly, “ how long has this 
been going on ? ” 

“ You mean this change ? ” said Aimee, in a low 
voice. 

“ Yes.” 

“For three months,” she answered. “I did not 
like to tell you because I knew she would not like 
it ; but it dates from the time Grif went away.” 

Mrs. Phil burst into an impetuous gush of tears, 
hiding her handsome, girlish face on Tod's neck. 

“ It is a shame ! ” she cried out. “ It is a cruel, 
burning shame ! Who would ever have thought of 
Grif 's treating her like this ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Phil ; “ and who would ever have thought 
that Dolly would have broken down ? Dolly ! By 
George ! I can't believe it. If I am able to judge, 
it seems time that she should try Switzerland or 
somewhere else. Aimee, has she heard nothing of 
him?” 

“ Nothing.” 

The young man flushed hotly. 


V A GABONDIA . 


325 


“ Confound it ! ” he burst forth. “ It looks as if the 
fellow was a dishonorable scamp. And yet he is the 
last man I should ever have fancied would prove a 
scamp.” 

“ But he has not proved himself a scamp yet,” said 
Aimee, in a troubled tone. “ And Dolly would not 
like to hear you say so. And if you knew the whole 
truth you wouldn't say so. He has been tried too 
far, and he has been impetuous and rash, but it was 
his love for Dolly that made him so. And wherever 
he may be, Phil, I know he is as wretched and hope- 
less as Dolly herself could be at the worst. It has all 
been misunderstanding and mischance.” 

“ He has broken Dolly’s heart, nevertheless,” cried 
Mrs. Phil. “ And if she dies — ” 

“ Dies ! ” cried out Mollie, opening her great eyes 
and turning pale all at once. “ Dies ! Dolly ? ” 

“ Hush ! ” said Aimee, trembling and losing color 
herself. “ Oh, hush ! — don’t say such things. It 
sounds so dreadful, — it is too dreadful to think of ! ” 


And so it came about that on another of these hot 
June days there appeared at the table d'hdte of a 
certain well-conducted and already well-filled inn at 
Lake Geneva two new arrivals, — a tall, thin, elderly 
lady of excessively English exterior, and a young per- 
son who attracted some attention, — a girl who wore 


326 


VAGABONDIA. 


a long black dress, and had a picturesque Elizabethan 
frill about her too slender throat, and who, in spite of 
her manner and the clearness of her bright voice, was 
too whitely transparent of complexion and too finely 
cut of face to look as strong as a girl of one or two 
and twenty ought to be. 

The people who took stock of them, after the manner 
of all unoccupied hotel sojourners on the lookout for 
sensations, noticed this. One or two of them even 
observed that, on entering the room after the slight 
exertion of descending the staircase, the girl was 
slightly out of breath and seemed glad to sit down, 
and that, her companion evidently making some re- 
mark upon the fact, she half laughed, as if wishing to 
make light of it ; and they noticed, too, that her natu- 
rally small hands were so very slender that her one 
simple little ring of amethyst and pearls slipped 
loosely up and down her finger. 

They were not ordinary tourists, these new arrivals, 
it was clear. Their attire told that at once. They 
had removed their travelling dresses, and looked as if 
they had quite made up their minds to enjoy their 
customary mode of life as if they had been at home. 
They had no courier, the wiseacres had ascertained, 
and they had brought a neat English serving- woman, 
who seemed to know her business marvellously well 
and be by no means unaccustomed to travelling. 

“ Aunt and niece ! ” commented one gentleman, sur- 


VA GAB0ND1A . 


327 


veying Dolly over his soup. “ A nice little creature, — 
the niece.” And he mentally resolved to cultivate 
her acquaintance. But it was not such an easy mat- 
ter. The new arrivals were unlike ordinary tourists 
in other respects than in their settled mode of life. 
They did not seem to care to form chance acquaint- 
ance with their fellow guests. They lived quietly 
and, unless when driving out together or taking short, 
unfatiguing strolls, remained much in their own apart- 
ments. They appeared at the table d'hote occasion- 
ally ; but though they were pleasant in manner they 
were not communicative, and so, after a week or so, 
people tired of asking questions about them, and 
lapsed into merely exchanging greetings, and looking 
on with some interest at any changes they observed in 
the pretty, transparent, though always bright face, and 
the pliant, soft young figure. 

Thus Miss MacDowlas and her companion “ tried 
Switzerland.” 

“ It will do you good, my dear, and brace you up,” 
the elder lady had said ; and from the bottom of her 
heart she had hoped it would. 

And did it ? 

Well, the last time Dolly had “ tried Switzerland,” 
she had tried it in the capacity of Lady Augusta’s 
governess, and she had held in charge a host of ram- 
pant young^ Bilberrys, who secretly loathed their daily 
duties, and were not remarkable in the matter of filial 


328 


VA GABONDIA . 


piety, and were only reconciled to existence by the 
presence of their maternal parent’s greatest trial, that 
highly objectionable Dorothea Crewe. So, taking 
Lady Augusta in conjunction with her young charges, 
the girl had often felt her lot by no means the easiest 
in the world ; but youth and spirit, and those oft- 
arriving letters, had helped her to bear a great deal, 
and so there was still something sweet about the 
memory. Oh, those old letters — those foolish, pas- 
sionate, tender letters — written in the dusty, hot 
London office, read with such happiness, and an- 
swered on such closely penned sheets of foreign 
paper ! How she had used to watch for them, and 
carry them to her small bedroom and read them again 
and again, kneeling on the floor by the open window, 
the fresh, soft summer breezes from the blue lake 
far below stirring her hair and kissing her fore- 
head! How doubly and trebly fair she had been 
wont to fancy everything looked on that “ letter day ” 
of hers, — that red-letter day, — that golden-letter 
day! 

The very letters she had written then lay in her 
trunk now, tied together in a bundle, just as Grif had 
brought them and laid them down upon the table 
when he gave her up forever. Her “ dead letter ” 
lay with them, — that last, last appeal, which had 
never reached his heart, and never would. She had 
written her last letter to him, and he his last to her. 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


329 


And now she had been brought to “ try Switzerland ” 
and Lake Geneva as a Lethe. 

But she had determined to be practical and coura- 
geous, and bear it as best she might. It would not 
have been like her to give way at once without a 
struggle. She did not believe in lovelorn damsels, 
who pined away and died of broken hearts, and made 
all their friends uncomfortable by so doing. She made 
a struggle, and refused to give up. She grew shad- 
owy and fair ; but it was under protest, and she battled 
against the change she felt creeping upon her so slowly 
but so surely. She showed a brave face to people, and 
tried to be as bright and ready-witted as ever ; and if 
she failed it was not her own fault. She fought hard 
against her sleepless nights and weary days; and 
when she lay awake hour after hour hearing the 
clock strike, it was not because she made no effort 
to compose herself, it was only because the delicate 
wheels of thought would work against her helpless 
will, and it was worse than useless to close her eyes 
when she could see so plainly her lost lover’s desper- 
ate, anguished face, and hear so distinctly his strained, 
strangely altered voice : “ No, it is too late for that 
now, — that is all over ! ” And he had once loved 
her better than his life ! 

So it was that, try as she might, she could not 
make Switzerland a success. When she went down 
to the table d'hdte , people saw that instead of growing 


330 


VAGABOND1A. 


stronger she was growing more frail, and the exertion 
of coming down the long flight of stairs tried her more 
than it had seemed to do that first day. Sometimes 
she had a soft, lovely, dangerous color on her cheeks, 
and her eyes looked almost translucent ; and then 
again the color was gone, her skin was white and 
transparent, and her eyes were shadowy and languid. 
When the hot July days came in, the ring of pearls 
and amethyst would stay on the small worn hand no 
longer, and so was taken off and hung with the little 
bunch of coquettish “ charms ” upon her chain. But 
she was not conquered yet, and the guests and ser- 
vants often heard her laughing, and making Miss 
MacDowlas laugh as they sat together in their pri- 
vate parlor. 

The two were sitting thus together one Saturday 
early in July, — Dolly in a loose white wrapper, rest- 
ing in a low basket chair by the open window, and 
fanning herself languidly, — when a visitor was an- 
nounced, and the moment after the announcement a 
tall young lady rushed into the room and clasped 
Dolly unceremoniously in her arms, either not 
observing or totally ignoring Miss MacDowlas’s 
presence. 

“ Dolly ! ” she cried, kneeling down by the basket 
chair and speaking so fast that her words tumbled 
over each other, and her sentences were curiously 
mingled. “Oh ! if you please, dear, I know it was n’t 


VAGABONDIA. 


331 


polite, and I never meant to do it in such an unex- 
pected, awfully rude way ; and what mamma would 
say, I am sure I cannot tell, unless go into dignified 
convulsions, and shudder herself stiff ; but how could 
I help it, when I came expecting to see you as bright 
and lovely as ever, and caught a glimpse of you 
through the door, as the servant spoke, sitting here so 
white and thin and tired-looking ! Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! 
how ever can it be ! ” 

“ My dear Phemie ! ” said Dolly, laughing and cry- 
ing both at once, through weakness and sympathy, — 
for of course poor, easily moved Phemie had burst 
into a flood of affectionate tears. “My dear child, 
how excited you are, and how pleasant it is to see 
you ! How did you manage to come ? ” 

“ The professor with the lumpy face — poor, pale 
darling — I mean you, not him,” explained the eldest 
Miss Bilberry, clinging to her ex-governess as if she 
was afraid of seeing her float through the open win- 
dow. “ The professor with the lumpy face, Dolly ; 
which shows he is not so horrid as I always thought 
him, and I am very sorry for being so inconsiderate, 
I am sure — you know he cannot help his lumps any 
more than I can help my dreadful red hands and my 
dresses not fitting.” 

Dolly stopped her here to introduce her to Miss 
MacDowlas ; and that lady having welcomed her 
good-naturedly, and received her incoherent apologies 


332 


VAGABONDIA. 


for her impetuous lack of decorum, the explanation 
proceeded. 

“ How could the professor send you here ? ” asked 
Dolly. 

“ He did not exactly send me, but he helped me,” 
replied the luckless Euphemia, becoming a trifle more 
coherent. “ I saw you at the little church, though 
you did not see me, because, of course, we sit in the 
most disagreeable part, just where we can’t see or be 
seen at all. And though I only saw you at a dis- 
tance, and through your veil, and half behind a pillar, 
I knew you, and knew Miss MacDowlas. I think I 
knew Miss MacDowlas most because she was n't be- 
hind the pillar. And it nearly drove me crazy to 
think you were so near, and I gave one of the ser- 
vants some money to find out where you were staying, 
and she brought me word that you were staying here, 
and meant to stay. And then I asked the lady prin- 
cipal to let me come and see you, and of course she 
refused ; and I never should have been able to come 
at all, only it chanced that was my music-lesson day, 
and I went in to the professor with red eyes, — I had 
cried so, — and when he asked me what I had been 
crying for, I remembered that he used to be fond of 
you, and I told him. And he was sorry for me, and 
promised to ask leave for me. He is a cousin of the 
lady principal, and a great favorite with her. And 
the end of it was that they let me come. And I have 


V A GABONDIA. 


333 


almost flown. I had to wait until to-day, you know, 
because it was Saturday .” 

It was quite touching to see how, when she stopped 
speaking, she clung to Dolly’s hands, and looked at 
her with wonder and grief in her face. 

“ What is it that has changed you so ? ” she said. 
“ You are not like yourself at all. Oh, my dear, how 
ill you are ! ” 

A wistful shadow showed itself in the girl’s eyes. 

" Am I so much changed ? ” she asked. 

“ You do not look like our Dolly at all,” protested 
Phemie. “ You are thin, — oh, so thin ! What is the 
matter ? ” 

“ Thin ! ” said Dolly. “ Am I ? Then I must be 
growing ugly enough. Perhaps it is to punish me 
for being so vain about my figure. Don’t you 
remember what a dread I always had of growing 
thin? Just to think that I should grow thin, after 
all! Do my bones stick out like the Honorable 
Cecilia Howland’s, Phemie ? ” And she ended with 
a little laugh. 

Phemie kissed her, in affectionate protest against 
such an idea. 

“ Oh, dear, no ! ” she said. “ They could n’t, you 
know. They are not the kind of bones to do it. 
Just think of her dreadful elbows and her fearful 
shoulder-blades ! You could n’t look like her. I 
don’t mean that sort of thinness at all. But you 


334 


VAGABONDIA. 


seem so light and so little. And look here,” and she 
held up the painfully small hand, the poor little hand 
without the ring. “ There are no dimples here now, 
Dolly,” she said, sorrowfully. 

“ No,” answered Dolly, simply ; and the next 
minute, as she drew her hand away, there fluttered 
from her lips a sigh. 

She managed to change the turn of conversation 
after this. Miss MacDowlas had good-naturedly left 
them alone, and so she began to ask Phemie questions, 
— questions about school and lessons and companions, 
about the lady principal and the under-teachers and 
about the professor with the lumpy face ; and, despite 
appearances being against her, there was still the old 
ring in her girl's jests. 

“ Has madame got a new bonnet yet,” she asked, 
“ or does she still wear the old one with those aggres- 
sive-looking spikes of wheat in it ? The lean ears 
ought to have eaten up the fat ones by this time.” 

“ But they have n't,” returned Phemie. “ They are 
there yet, Dolly. Just the same spikes in the same 
bonnet, only she has had new saffron-colored ribbon 
put on it, just the shade of her skin.” 

Dolly shuddered, — Lady Augusta’s own semi-tragic 
shudder, if Phemie had only recognized it. 

“ Phemie,” she said, with a touch of pardonable 
anxiety, “ ill as I look, I am not that color, am I ? 
To lose one's figure and grow thin is bad enough, but 


V A GABONDIA. 


335 


to become like Madame Pillet — dear me ! ” shaking 
her head. “ I scarcely think I could reconcile my- 
self to existence.” 

Phemie laughed. “You are not changed in one 
respect, Dolly,” she said. “When I hear you talk 
it makes me feel quite — quite safe.” 

“ Safe ! ” Dolly echoed. “ You mean to say that so 
long as I preserve my constitutional vanity, your anx- 
iety won’t overpower you. But — but,” looking at 
her curiously, “ did you think at first that I was not 
safe, as you call it ? ” 

“ You looked so ill,” faltered Phemie. “ And — I 
was so startled.” 

“ Were you ? ” asked Dolly. “ Did I shock you ? ” 

“A little — only just a little, dear,” deprecatingly. 

Then strangely enough fell upon them a silence. 
Dolly turned toward the window, and her eyes seemed 
to fix themselves upon some far-away point, as if she 
was pondering over a new train of thought. And 
when at last she spoke, her voice was touched with 
the tremulous unsteadiness of tears. 

“ Do you think,” she said, slowly, — « “ do you think 
that any one who had loved me would be shocked to 
see me now ? Am I so much altered as that ? One 
scarcely sees these things one’s self, — they come to 
pass so gradually.” 

All poor Phemie’s smiles died away. 

“ Don’t let us talk about it,” she pleaded. “ I can- 


336 


VAGABONDIA. 


not bear to hear you speak so. Don’t, dear — if you 
please, don’t ! ” 

Her pain was so evident that it roused Dolly at 
once. 

“ I won’t, if it troubles you,” she said, almost in 
her natural manner. “ It does not matter, — why 
should it ? There is no one here to be shocked. I 
was only wondering.” 

But the shadow did not quite leave her face, and 
even when, an hour later, Euphemia bade her good-by 
and left her, promising to return again as soon as pos- 
sible, it was there still. 

She was very, very quiet for a few minutes after 
she found herself alone. She clasped her hands 
behind her head, and lay back in the light chair, 
looking out of the window. She was thinking so 
deeply that she did not even stir for a while ; but in 
the end she got up, as though moved by some im- 
pulse, and crossed the room. 

Against the wall hung a long, narrow mirror, and 
she went to this mirror and stood before it, looking 
at herself from head to foot, — at her piteously 
sharpened face, with its large, wondering eyes, eyes 
that wondered at themselves, — at the small, light fig- 
ure so painfully etherealized, and about which the 
white wrapper hung so loosely. She even held up, 
at last, the slender hand and arm ; but when she saw 
these uplifted, appealing, as it were, for this sad, new 


V A GABONDIA. 


337 


face which did not seem her own, she broke into a 
little cry of pain and grief. 

“If you could see me now,” she said, “if you should 
come here by chance and see me now, my dear, I 
think you would not wait to ask whether I had been 
true or false. I never laid this white cheek on your 
shoulder, did I ? Oh, what a changed face it is ! I 
know I was never very pretty, though you thought 
so and were proud of me in your tender way, but I 
was not like this in those dear old days. Grif, Grif, 
would you know me, — would you know me ? ” And, 
turning to her chair again, she dropped upon her 
knees before it, and knelt there sobbing. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


IF YOU SHOULD DIE. 



HE postman paid frequent visits to Bloomsbury 


Place during these summer weeks. At first 
Dolly wrote often herself, but later it seemed to fall 
to Miss MacDowlas to answer Aimee’s weekly let- 
ters and Mollie’s fortnightly ones. And that lady 
was a faithful correspondent, and did her duty as 
readily as was possible, giving all the news, and 
recording all Dolly’s messages, and issuing regular 
bulletins on the subject of her health. “ Your sister,” 
she sometimes wrote, “ is not so well, and I have 
persuaded her to allow me to be her amanuensis.” 
Or, “Your sister is tired after a rather long drive, 
and I have persuaded her to rest while I write at her 
dictation.” Or sometimes, “ Dolly is rather stronger, 
and is in excellent spirits, but I do not wish her to 
exert herself at present.” But at length a new 
element crept into these letters. The cheerful tone 
gave way to a more dubious one ; Dolly’s whimsical 
messages were fewer and farther between, and some- 
times Miss MacDowlas seemed to be on the verge of 


VAGABONDIA. 


339 


hinting that her condition was a weaker and more 
precarious one than even she herself had at first 
feared. 

Ralph Gowan, on making his friendly calls, and 
hearing this, was both anxious and puzzled. In a 
very short time after his return he had awakened to 
a recognition of some mysterious shadow upon the 
household. Yagabondia had lost its spirits. Mrs. 
Phil and her husband were almost thoughtful ; Tod 
disported himself unregarded and unadmired, com- 
paratively speaking; Mollie seemed half frightened 
by the aspect affairs were wearing; and Aimee’s 
wise, round face had an older look. And then these 
letters! Dolly “ trying Switzerland” for her health, 
Dolly mysteriously ill and far away from home, — 
too weak sometimes to write. Dolly, who had never 
seemed to have a weakness ; who had entered the 
lists against even Lady Augusta, and had come off 
victorious ; who had been mock- worldly, and coquet- 
tish, and daring; who had made open onslaught 
upon eligible Philistines; who had angled prettily 
and with sinful success for ineligible Bohemians ! 
What did it mean ? And where was Donne ? Cer- 
tainly he was never to be seen at Bloomsbury Place 
or in its vicinity in these days. 

But, deeply interested as he was, Gowan was not 
the man to ask questions; so he could only wait 
until chance brought the truth to light. 


340 


VAGABOND1A. 


He came to the house upon one occasion and 
found Aimee crying quietly over one of Miss 
MacDowlas’s letters in the parlor, and in his sym- 
pathy he felt compelled to speak openly to her. 

Then Aimee, heavy of heart and full of despairing 
grief, handed him the letter to read. 

" I have known it would be so — from the first,” 
she sobbed. "We are going to lose her. Perhaps 
she will not live to come home again.” 

“ You mean Dolly ? ” he said. 

"Yes,” hysterically. "Miss MacDowlas says — ” 
But she could get no further. 

This was what Miss MacDowlas said : — 

"I cannot think it would be right to hide from 
you that your sister is very ill, though she does not 
complain, and persists in treating her increasing 
weakness lightly. Indeed, I am sure that she herself 
does not comprehend her danger. I am inclined to 
believe that it has not yet occurred to her that she is 
in danger at all. She protests that she cannot be ill 
so long as she does not suffer; but I, who have 
watched her day by day, can see only too plainly 
where the danger lies. And so I think it best to 
warn you to be prepared to come to us at once if at 
any time I should send for you hurriedly.” 

" Prepared to go to them ! ” commented Aimee. 
€t What does that mean ? What can it mean but 
that our own Dolly is dying, and may slip out of the 


VAGABONDIA. 


341 


world away from us at any moment? Oh, Grif! 
Grif ! what have you done ? ” 

Gowan closed the letter. 

“ Miss Aimee,” he said, “ where is Donne ? ” 

Aimee fairly wrung her hands. 

“ I don’t know,” she quite wailed. “ If I only did 
— if I only knew where I could find him ! ” 

“ You don’t know ! ” exclaimed Gowan. “ And 
Dolly dying in Switzerland!” 

“ That is it,” she returned. “ That is what it all 
means. If any of us knew — or if Dolly knew, she 
would not be dying in Switzerland. It is because 
she does not know, that she is dying. She has never 
seen him since the night you brought Mollie home. 
And — and she cannot live without him.” 

The whole story was told in very few words after 
this ; and Gowan, listening, began to understand what 
the cloud upon the house had meant. He suffered 
some sharp enough pangs through the discovery, too. 
The last frail cords that had bound him to hope 
snapped as Aimee poured out her sorrows. He had 
never been very sanguine of success, but even after 
hoping against hope, his tender fancy for Dolly 
Crewe had died a very lingering death; indeed, it 
was not quite dead yet, but he was beginning to com- 
prehend this old love story more fully, and he had 
found himself forced to do his rival greater justice. 
He could not see his virtues as the rest saw them, 


342 


V A GA B ONDIA . 


of course, but he was generous enough to pity him, 
and see that his lot had been a terribly hard one. 

“ There is only one thing to be done,” he said, 
when Airnee had finished speaking. “We must find 
him.” 

“Find him ! We cannot find him ” 

“ That remains to be proved,” he answered. “Have 
you been to his lodgings?” 

“ Yes,” mournfully. “ And even to the office ! 
He left his lodgings that very night, paid his bills, and 
drove away in a cab with his trunk. Poor Grif ! It 
was n’t a very big trunk. He went to the office the 
next morning, and told Mr. Flynn he was going to 
leave London, and one of the clerks told Phil there 
was a ‘ row ’ between them. Mr. Flynn was angry 
because he had not given due notice of his intention. 
That is all we know.” 

“And you have not the slightest clew beyond 
this?” 

“Not the slightest. He spent all his spare time 
with Dolly, you know; so there is not even any 
place of resort, or club, or anything, where we might 
go to make inquiries about him.” 

Gowan’s countenance fell. He felt the girl’s dis- 
tress keenly, apart from his own pain. 

“ The whole affair seems very much against us,” he 
said ; “ but he may — I say he may be in London 
still. I am inclined to believe he is myself. When 


VAGABONDIA. 


343 


the first passion of excitement was over, he would 
find himself weaker than he fancied he was. It 
would not be so easy to cut himself off from the old 
life altogether. He would long so inexpressibly to 
see Dolly again that he could not tear himself away. 
I think we may be assured that even if he is not in 
London, at least he has not left England.” 

“ That was what I have been afraid of,” said Aimee, 
“ that he might have left England altogether.” 

“ I cannot think he has,” Gowan returned. 

They were both silent for a moment. Aimee sat 
twisting Miss MacDowlas’s letter in her fingers, fresh 
tears gathering in her eyes. 

“ It is all the harder to bear,” she said next, “ be- 
cause Dolly has always seemed so much of a reality 
to us. If she had been a pale, ethereal sort of girl, 
it might not seem such a shock ; but she never was. 
She even used to say she could not bear those frail, 
ethereal people in books, who were always dying and 
saying touching things just at the proper time, and 
who knew exactly when to call up their agonized 
friends to their bedside to see how pathetically and 
decorously they made their exit. Oh, my poor dar- 
ling ! To think that she should be fading away and 
dying just in the same way ! I cannot make it seem 
real. I cannot think of her without her color, and her 
jokes, and her bits of acting, and her little vanities. 
She will not be our Dolly at all if they have left her. 


344 


VAGABONDIA. 


There is a dress of hers up-stairs now, — a dress she 
couldn't bear. And I remember so well how she 
lost her temper when she was making it, because it 
would n't fit. And when I went into the parlor she 
was crying over it, and Grif was trying so hard to 
console her that at last she laughed. I can see her 
now, with the tears in her eyes, looking half- vexed 
and half-comforted. And Tod, too, — how fond she 
was of Tod, and how proud of him ! Ah, Tod,” in a 
fresh burst, “ when you grow up, the daisies may have 
been growing for many a year over poor little Aunt 
Dolly, and you will have forgotten her quite.” 

“ You must not look at the matter in that despond- 
ing way,” said Go wan, quite unsteadily. “ We must 
hope for the best, and do what we can. You may 
rely upon me to exert myself to the utmost. If we 
succeed in finding Donne I am sure that he will do 
the rest. Perhaps, next summer Yagabondia will be 
as bright as ever, — nay, even brighter than it has 
been before.” 

All his sympathies were enlisted, and, hopeless as 
the task seemed, he had determined to make strenu- 
ous efforts to trace this lost lover. Men had con- 
cealed themselves from their friends, in the world of 
London, often before, and this, he felt sure, Griffith 
Donne was doing ; and since this poor little impas- 
sioned, much-tried Dolly was dying in spite of herself 
for Griffith Donne’s sake, and seemed only to be saved 


VAGABONDIA. 


345 


by his presence, he must even set himself the task of 
bringing him to light and clearing up this miserable 
misunderstanding. Having been Dolly Crewe's lover, 
he was still generous enough to wish to prove himself 
her friend ; yes, and even her luckier lover's friend, 
though he winced a trifle at the thought. Accord- 
ingly, he left the house that night with his mind full 
of half-formed plans, both feasible and otherwise. 

During the remainder of that week he did not call 
at Bloomsbury Place again, but at the beginning of 
the next he made his appearance, bringing with him 
a piece of news which excited Aimee terribly. 

“ I know I shall startle you,'' he said, the moment 
they were alone together, “but you can scarcely be 
more startled than I was myself. I have been on the 
lookout ^constantly, but I did not expect to be re- 
warded by success so soon. Indeed, as it is, it has 
been entirely a matter of chance. It is as I felt sure 
it would be. Donne is in London still. I know that 
much, though that is all I have learned as yet. Late 
last night I caught a glimpse — only a glimpse — of 
him hurrying through a by-street. I almost fancied 
he had seen me and was determined to get out of the 
way." 


“ The pretty English girl," said the guests at the 
inn, “ comes down no longer to the table d'hote.” 
u The pretty English girl," remarked the wiseacres, 


346 


VAGABONDIA. 


“does not even drive out on these days, and the 
doctor calls every morning to see her.” 

“And sometimes,” added one of the wisest, “again 
in the evening.” 

“ Consumption,” observed another. 

“ Plainly consumption,” nodding significantly. 
“ These English frauleins are so often consumptive,” 
commented a third. “It is astonishing to remark 
how many come to ‘ try Switzerland/ as they say.” 

“ And die ? ” 

“ And die, — as this one will.” 

“ Poor little thing ! ” with a sigh and a pitying 
shrug of the shoulders. 

And in the meantime up-stairs the basket chair 
had been taken away from the window, and a large- 
cushioned, chintz-covered couch had been pushed 
into its place, and Dolly lay upon it. But luxurious 
as her couch was, and balmy as the air was, coming 
through the widely opened window, she did not find 
much rest. The fact was, she was past rest by this 
time, she was too weak to rest. The hot days tried 
her, and her sleepless nights undermined even her 
last feeble relic of strength. Sometimes during the 
day she felt that she could not lie propped up on the 
pillows a moment longer ; but when she tried to stand 
or sit up she was glad to drop back again into the old 
place. She lost her breath fearfully soon, — the least 
exertion left her panting. 


VAGABONDIA. 


347 


“ If I had a cough,” she said once to Miss Mac- 
Dowlas, “ I could understand that I was ill — or if I 
suffered any actual pain, but I don’t, and even the 
doctor admits that my lungs are safe enough. What 
is it that he says about me ? Let me see. Ah, this is 
it : that I am ‘ below par — fearfully below par/ as if 
I was gold, or notes, or bonds, or something. My 
ideas on the subject of the money market are indefi- 
nite, you see. Ah, well ; I wonder when I shall be 
‘ above par ’ ! ” 

She never spoke of her ailments in any other strain. 
Even as she lay on her couch, too prostrate to either 
read or work, she made audacious satirical speeches, 
and told Miss MacDowlas stories of Vagabondia, just 
as she used to tell them to Grif himself, only that in 
these days she could not get up to flourish illustra- 
tively ; and often after lying for an hour or so in a 
dead, heavy, exhausting day-sleep, she opened her 
eyes at last, to jest about her faithful discharge of her 
duties as companion. Only she herself knew of the 
fierce battles she so often fought in secret, when her 
sore, aching heart cried out so loud for Grif and would 
not — would not be comforted. 

She saw Phemie frequently. The much-abused 
professor had proved himself a faithful friend to them. 
He had never been quite able to forget the little Eng- 
lish governess, who had so won upon him in the past, 
even though this same young lady, in her anxiety to 


348 


V A GA B ONDIA . 


set Lady Augusta at defiance, had treated him some- 
what cavalierly. Indeed, hearing that she was ill, he 
was so touched as to be quite overwhelmed with grief. 
He gained Euphemia frequent leaves of absence, and 
sent messages of condolence and bouquets, — huge 
bunches of flowers which made Dolly laugh even 
while they pleased her. There was always a bou- 
quet, stiff in form and gigantic in proportions, when 
Phemie came. 

At first Phemie caught the contagion of Dolly's 
own spirit and hopefulness, and was sustained by it 
in spite of appearances ; but its influence died out at 
the end of a few weeks, and even she was not to be 
deceived. An awful fear began to force itself upon 
her, — *a fear doubly awful to poor, susceptible 
Phemie. Dolly was getting no better ; she was even 
getting worse every day ; she could not sit up ; she 
was thinner and larger-eyed than ever. Was some- 
thing going to happen ? And at the mere thought of 
that possible something she would lose her breath 
and sit looking at Dolly, silent, wondering, and awe- 
stricken. She began to ponder over this something, 
as she tried to learn her lessons ; she thought of it as 
she went to bed and she dreamed of it in the night. 
Sometimes when she came in unexpectedly and found 
Dolly in one of those prostrate sleeps, she was so 
frightened that she could have cried out aloud. 

She came in so one evening at twilight, — the 


VAGABONDIA. 


349 


professor had brought her himself and had promised 
to escort her home, — and she found Dolly in one of 
these sleeps. So, treading lightly, she put the bouquet 
in water, and then drew a low chair to the girl’s side 
and sat down to watch and wait until she should 
awaken. Miss MacDowlas was in her own room 
writing to Aim^e ; so the place seemed very quiet, and 
it was its quietness, perhaps, which so stirred Phemie 
to sorrowful thoughts and fear. 

Upon her brightly flowered chintz cushions Dolly 
lay like the shadow of her former self. The once 
soft, round outlines of her face had grown clear and 
sharp-cut, the delicate chin had lost its dimple, the 
transparent skin upon the temples showed a tracery 
of blue veins, the closed eyelids had a strange white- 
ness and lay upon her eyes heavily. She did not 
move, — she seemed scarcely to breathe. Phemie 
caught her own breath and held it, lest it should 
break from her in a sob of grief and terror. 

This something awful was going to happen ! She 
could not recover herself even when Dolly wakened 
and began to talk to her. She could not think of 
anything but her own anguish and pity for her friend. 
She could not talk and was so silent, indeed, that 
Dolly became silent too; and so, as the dusk fell upon 
them, they sat together in a novel quiet, listening to 
a band of strolling musicians, who were playing some- 
where in the distance, and the sound of whose 


350 


VAGABONDIA. 


instruments floated to them, softened and made 
plaintive by the evening air. 

At last Dolly broke the silence. 

“ You are very quiet, Phemie,” she said. “ Are you 
going to sleep ? ” 

u No,” faltered Phemie, drawing closer to her. “ I 
am thinking.” 

“ Thinking. What about ? ” 

“ About you. Dolly, do you — are you very ill — 
worse than you were ? ” 

“ Very ill ! ” repeated Dolly, slowly, as if in wonder. 
“ Worse than I was ! Why do you ask ? ” 

Then Phemie lost self-control altogether. She left 
her seat and fell down by the couch, bursting into 
tears. 

“You are so altered,” she said; “and you alter so 
much every week. I cried over your poor, thin little 
hands when first I came to see you, but now your 
wrist looks as if it would snap in two. Oh, Dolly, 
darling, if — if you should die ! ” 

Was it quite a new thought, or was it because it 
had never come home to her in such a form before, 
this thought of Death? She started as if she had 
been stung. 

“ If I should die ! ” she echoed. “ Die ! ” 

“ Phemie, my dear,” said Miss MacDowlas, opening 
the door, “ the professor is waiting down-stairs.” 

And so, having let her sorrow get the better of 


VAGABONDIA. 


351 


her, Phemie had no time to stay to see if her indis- 
cretion had done harm. If she did not go now, she 
might not be allowed fresh grace; and so she was fain 
to tear herself away. 

“ I ought n't to have said it ! ” she bewailed, as she 
kissed Dolly again and again. “ Please forget it ; oh, 
do, please, forget it ! I did not mean it, indeed ! 
And now I shall be so frightened and unhappy ! ” 

"Phemie," said Dolly, quietly, "you have not fright- 
ened me; so you haven't the least need to trouble 
yourself, my dear." 

But she was not exactly sorry to be left alone, and 
when she was alone her thoughts wandered back to 
that first evening Phemie had called, — the evening 
she had gone to the glass to look at her changed face. 
She had sat in the basket-chair then, — she lay back 
upon her cushions now, and a crowd of new thoughts 
came trooping through her mind. The soft air was 
scented and balmy ; the twilight sky was a dome of 
purple, jewel-hung ; people's voices came murmuring 
from the gardens below ; the far-off music floated to 
her through the window. 

“ If I should die ! " she said, in a wondering whis- 
per, — “ I, Dolly Crewe ! How strange it sounds ! 
Have I never thought that I could die before, or is it 
strange because now it is so real and near ? When 
I used to talk about death to Grif, it always seemed 
so far away from both of us ; it seemed to me as if I 


352 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


was not good enough or unreal enough to be near to 
Death, — great, solemn Death itself. Why, I could 
look at myself, and wonder at the thought of how 
much I shall see and know if I should die. Grif, 
how much I should have to tell you, dear, — only that 
people are always afraid of spirits, and perhaps you 
would be afraid, too, — even of me ! What would 
they say at home ? Dear, old, broken-hearted fellow, 
what would you say, if I should die ? ” 

She could not help thinking about those at home ; 
about Aimee and Mollie and Phil and ’Toinette, 
sitting together in the dear old littered room at 
Bloomsbury Place, — the dear old untidy room, where 
she had sat with Grif so often ! How would they all 
bear it when the letter came to tell them she was 
gone, and would never be with them and share their 
pleasures and troubles again ! And then, strangely 
enough, she began to picture herself as she would 
look ; perhaps, laid out in this very room, a dimly 
outlined figure, under a white sheet, — not her old 
self, but a solemn, wondrous marble form, before 
whose motionless, mysterious presence they would feel 
awed. 

“And they would turn down the white covering 
and look at me,” she found herself saying. “And 
they would wonder at me, and feel that I was far 
away. Oh, how they would wonder at me ! And, at 
the very last, before they hid my face forever under 


VA GABON DIA . 


353 


the coffin-lid, they would all kiss me in that tender, 
solemn way, — all but Grif, who loved me best ; and 
Grif would not be there ! ” 

And the piteous rain of heavy tears that rolled 
down her cheeks, and fell upon her pillow, was not 
for herself, — not for her own pain and weariness and 
anguish, — not for the white, worn face, that would 
be shut beneath the coffin-lid, but for Grif, — for Grif, 
— for Grif, who, coming back some day to learn the 
truth, might hear that she had died! 


CHAPTER XVII. 


DO YOU KNOW THAT SHE IS DYING? 

I T had come at last, — the letter from Geneva, for 
which they all had waited with such anxious 
hearts and so much of dread. The postman, bring- 
ing it by the morning’s delivery, and handing it 
through the opened door to Aim4e, had wondered a 
little at her excited manner, — she was always excited 
when these letters came; and the moment she had 
entered the parlor, holding the hurriedly read note, — 
it was scarcely more than a note, — there was not 
one of them who did not understand all before she 
spoke. 

Mrs. Phil burst into tears ; Phil himself laid down 
his brush and changed color ; Mollie silently clung 
to Tod as a refuge, and looked up with trembling 
lips. 

Mrs. Phil was the first to speak. 

“You may as well tell us the worst,” she said; 
“ but it is easy enough to guess what it is, without 
being told.” 

“It is almost the very worst,” answered Aim4e. 


VAGABONDIA. 


355 


“ Miss MacDowlas wants me to go to them at once. 
She is so ill that if a change does not take place, she 
will not live many weeks, and she has asked for me.” 

They all knew only too well that “she” meant 
Dolly. 

“ Then,” said Phil, “ you must go at once.” 

“I can go to-day,” she answered. “I knew it 
would come to this, and I am ready to leave London 
at any moment.” 

There was no delay. Her small box was even then 
ready packed and corded for the journey. She had 
taken Miss MacDowlas’s warning in time. It would 
not have been like this heavy-hearted wise one to 
disregard it. She would have been ready to go to 
Dolly at ten minutes’ notice, if she had been in India. 
She was not afraid, either, of making the journey 
alone. It was not a very terrible journey, she said. 
Secretly, she had a fancy that perhaps Dolly would 
like to see her by herself first, to have a few quiet 
days alone with her, in which she could become used 
to the idea of the farewell the rest would come to say. 
And in her mind the poor little oracle had another 
fancy, too, and this fancy she confided to Mollie 
before bidding her good-by. 

“ Mollie,” she said, “ I am going to leave a charge 
in your hands.” 

“ Is it anything about Dolly ? ” asked Mollie, mak- 
ing fruitless efforts to check her affectionate tears. 


356 


VAGABONDIA. 


“ I wish you would leave me something to do for 
Dolly, Aimee.” 

“ It is something connected with Dolly,” returned 
Aim4e. “I want you to keep constantly on the 
watch for Griffith.” 

“For Griffith!” Mollie exclaimed. “How can I, 
when I don’t know whether he is in England or not ? ” 

“ He is in England,” Aimee replied. “ He is in 
London, for Mr. Gowan has seen him.” 

“ In London — and Dolly in Switzerland, perhaps 
dying ! ” 

“ He does not know that, or he would have been 
with her before now,” said Aimee. “Once let him 
know that she is ill, and he will be with her. I know 
him well enough to be sure of that. And it is my 
impression that if he went to her at the eleventh hour, 
when she might seem to us to be at the very last, he 
would bring her back to life. It is Grif she is dying 
for, and only Grif can save her.” 

“ And what do you want me to do ? ” anxiously. 

“To watch for him constantly, as I said. Don’t 
you think, Mollie, that he might come back, if it 
were only into the street to look at the house, in a 
restless sort of remembrance of the time when they 
used to be so happy?” 

“It would not be unlike him,” answered Mollie, 
slowly. “He was very fond of Dolly. Oh, he was 
veiy fond of her ! ” 


V A GABONDIA . 


357 


“ Fond of her ! He loved her better than his life, 
and does still, wherever he may be. Something tells 
me he will come, and that is why I want you to 
watch. Watch at the window as constantly as you 
can, but more particularly at dusk ; and if you should 
see him, Mollie, don’t wait a second. Bun out to 
him, and make him listen to you. Ah, poor fellow, 
he will listen eagerly and penitently enough, if you 
only say to him that Dolly is dying.” 

“ Very well,” said Mollie, “ I will remember.” 

And thus the wise one took her departure. 


It was twilight in Bloomsbury Place, and Mollie 
crouched before the parlor window, resting her chin 
upon her hands, and looking out, pretty much as 
Aimee had looked out on that winter evening months 
ago, when Mr. Gerald Chandos had first presented 
himself to her mind as an individual to be dreaded. 

Three days had passed since the wise one left 
London, — three miserable, dragging days they had 
seemed to Mollie, despite their summer warmth and 
sunshine. Beal anxiety and sorrow were new experi- 
ences in Vagabondia; little trials they had felt, and 
often enough small unpleasantnesses, privations, and 
disappointments ; but death and grief were new. And 
they were just beginning to realize broadly the blow 
which had fallen upon them ; hard as it was to believe 


358 


V A GABONDIA . 


at first, they were beginning slowly to comprehend 
the sad meaning of the lesson they were learning 
now for the first time. What each had felt a fear of 
in secret was coming to pass at last, and there was 
no help against it. 

Phil went about his work looking as none of them 
had ever seen him look before. Mrs. Hubs tears fell 
thick and fast. Not understanding the mystery, she 
could blame nobody but Grif, and Grif she could not 
forgive. To Mollie the house seemed like a grave. 
She could think of nothing but Dolly, — Dolly, white 
and worn and altered, lying upon her couch, her eyes 
closed, her breath fluttering faintly. She wondered 
if she was afraid to die. She herself had a secret 
girlish terror of death and its strange solemness, and 
she so pitied Dolly that sometimes she could not con- 
tain her grief, and was obliged to hide herself until 
her tears spent themselves. 

She had been crying during all this twilight hour 
she had knelt at the window. She was so lonely that 
it seemed impossible to do anything else. It would 
have been bad enough to bear the suspense even if 
Aimee had been with her, but without Aimee it was 
dreadful. The tears slipped down her cheeks and 
rolled away, and she did not even attempt to dry 
them, her affectionate grief had mastered her com- 
pletely. But she was roused at length. Some one 
crossed the street from the pavement opposite the 


VAGABONDIA. 


359 


house ; and when this some one entered the gate and 
ascended the steps, she rose slowly, half-reluctant, 
half-comforted, and with a faint thrill at her heart. 
It was Ealph Gowan, and she was not wise enough 
or self-controlled enough yet to see Ealph Gowan 
without feeling her pulses quicken. 

When she opened the door he did not greet her as 
usual, but spoke to her at once in a low, hurried 
tone. 

“ Mollie, where is Aimee ? ” he asked. 

Her tears began to flow again ; she could not help 
giving way. 

“ You had better come in,” she said, half turning 
away from him and speaking brokenly. “ Aimee is 
not here. She left London three days ago. Dolly — ” 

“ Dolly is worse ! ” he said, because she could not 
finish. 

She nodded, with a heart too full for words. 

He stepped inside, and, closing the door, laid his 
hand upon her shoulder. 

“ Then, Mollie,” he said, “ I must come to you.” 

He did not wait a moment, but led her gently 
enough into the parlor, and, blinded as she was by 
her tears, she saw that instant that he had not come 
without a reason. 

“ Don’t cry,” he said. “ I want you to be brave 
and calm now, — for Dolly’s sake. I want your help, 
— for Dolly’s sake, remember.” 


360 


V A GABONDIA . 


She recollected Aimee’s words — “ Mr. Gowan has 
seen him” — and a sudden light flashed upon her. 
The tears seemed to dry of their own accord all at 
once, as she looked up. 

“ Yes,” she answered. 

He knew, without hearing another word, that he 
might trust her. 

“ Can you guess whom I have just this moment 
seen ? ” he said. 

“Yes,” sprang from her lips, without a second’s 
hesitation. “ You have seen Grif.” 

“I have seen Grif,” he answered. “He is at the 
corner of the street now. If I had attempted to speak 
to him he would have managed to avoid me ; and be- 
cause I knew that, I came here, hoping to find Aimee ; 
but since Aimee is not here — ” 

“ I can go,” she interrupted him, all a- tremble with 
eagerness. “ He will listen to me ; he was fond of 
me, too, and I was fond of him. Oh ! let me go 
now ! ” 

That bright little scarlet shawl of Dolly’s lay upon 
the sofa, and she snatched it up with shaking hands 
and threw it over her head and shoulders. 

“ If I can speak to him once, he will listen,” she 
said ; “ and if he listens, Dolly will be saved. She 
won’t die if Grif comes back. She can’t die if Grif 
comes back. Oh, Dolly, my darling, you saved me, 
and I am going to try to save you.” 


VAGABONDIA. 


361 


She was out in the street in two minutes, standing 
on the pavement, looking up and down, and then she 
ran across to the other side. She kept close to the 
houses, so that she might be in their shadow, and a 
little sob broke from her as she hurried along, — a sob 
of joy and fear and excitement. At the end of the 
row of houses somebody was standing under the street 
lamp, — a man. Was it Grif, — or could Grif have 
gone even in this short time ? Fate could never have 
been so cruel to him, to her, to them all, as to let him 
come so near and then go away without hearing that 
Dolly was lying at death’s portals, and no one could 
save her but himself and the tender power of the 
sweet, old, much-tried love. Oh, no, no ! It was Grif 
indeed ; for as she neared the place where he stood, 
she saw his face in the lamp-light, — a grief- worn, 
pallid face, changed and haggard and desperate, — a 
sight that made her cry out aloud. 

He had not seen her or even heard her. He stood 
there looking toward the house she had left, and see- 
ing, as it seemed, nothing else. Only the darkness 
had hidden her from him. His eyes were fixed 
upon the dim light that burned in Dolly’s window. 
She had not meant to speak until she stood close 
to him; but when she was within a few paces of 
him her excitement mastered her. 

“ Grif,” she cried out ; “ Grif, is it you ? ” 

And when he turned, with a great start, to look at 


362 


VAGABONDIA. 


her, she was upon him, — her hands outstretched, the 
light upon her face, the tears streaming down her 
cheeks, — sobbing aloud. 

“ Mollie,” he answered, “ is it you ? ” And she 
saw that he almost staggered. 

She could not speak at first. She clung to his arm 
so tightly that he could scarcely have broken away 
from her if he had tried. But he did not try ; it 
seemed as though her touch made him weak, — weaker 
than he had ever been before in his life. Beauty as 
she was, they had always thought her in some way 
like Dolly, and, just now, with Dolly’s gay little scar- 
let shawl slipping away from her face, with the great 
grief in her imploring eyes, with that innocent appeal- 
ing trick of the clinging hands, she might almost 
have been Dolly’s self. 

Try as he might, he could not regain his self-control. 
He was sheerly powerless before her. 

“ Mollie,” he said, “ what has brought you here ? 
Why have you come ? ” 

“ I have come,” she answered, “ for Dolly’s sake ! ” 

The vague fear he had felt at first caught hold upon 
him with all the fulness of its strength. 

“ For Dolly’s sake ! ” he echoed. “ Nay, Dolly has 
done with me, and I with her.” And though he tried 
to speak bitterly, he failed. 

She was too fond of Dolly, and too full of grief to 
spare him after that. Unstrung as she was, her re- 


VAGABONDIA. 


363 


proach burst forth from her without a softened touch. 
“ Dolly has done with earth. Dolly’s life is over, ,, 
she sobbed. “ Do you know that she is dying ? Yes, 
dying, — our own bright Dolly, — and you — you 
have killed her ! ” 

She had not thought how cruel it would sound, and 
the next instant she was full of terror at the effect of 
her own words. He broke loose from her, — fell loose 
from her, one might better describe it, for it was his 
own weight rather than any effort which dragged him 
from her grasp. He staggered and caught hold of the 
iron railings to save himself, and there hung, staring 
at her with a face like a dead man. 

“ My God ! ” he said, — not another word. 

“ You must not give way like that,” she cried out, 
in a new fright. “ Oh, how could I speak so ! Aimee 
would have told you better. I did not mean to be so 
hard. You can save her if you will. She will not 
die, Grif, if ybu go to her. She only wants you. 
Grif, — Grif, — you look as if you could not under- 
stand what I am saying.” And she wrung her 
hands. 

And, indeed, it scarcely seemed as if he did under- 
stand, though at last he spoke. 

“ Where is she ? ” he said. “ Not here ? You say 
I must ‘ go ’ to her.” 

“ No, she is not here. She is at Lake Geneva. 
Miss MacDowlas took her there because she grew so 


364 


VAGABONDIA. 


weak, and she has grown weaker ever since, and three 
days ago they sent for Aimee to come to her, because 
— because they think she is going to die.” 

“ And you say that I have done this ? ” 

“ I ought n’t to have put it that way, it sounds so 
cruel, but — but she has never been like herself since 
the night you went away, and we have all known 
that it was her unhappiness that made her ill. She 
could not get over it, and though she tried to hide it, 
she was worn out. She loved you so.” 

He interrupted her. 

“ If she is dying for me,” he said, hoarsely, “ she 
must have loved me, and if she has loved me through 
all this, — God help us both !” 

“ How could you go away and leave her all alone 
after all those years ? ” demanded Mollie. “ We can- 
not understand it. No one knows but Aimee, and 
Dolly has told her that you were not to blame. 
Why did you go ? ” 

“ You do not know ? ” he said. “ You should know, 
Mollie, of all others. You were with her when she 
played that miserable coquette’s trick, — that pitiful 
trick, so unlike herself, — you were with her that 
night when she let Gowan keep her away from me, 
when I waited for her coming hour after hour. I 
saw you with them when he was bidding her good- 
night.” 

They had hidden their secret well all these months, 


V A GA B ONDIA . 


365 


but it was to be hidden no longer now. It flashed 
upon her like an electric shock. She remembered a 
hundred things, — a hundred little mysteries she had 
met and been puzzled by, in Aimee’s manner ; she 
remembered all she had heard, and all she had won- 
dered at, and her heart seemed turned to stone. The 
flush of weeping died out of her face, her hands fell 
and hung down at her side, her tears were gone ; 
nothing seemed left to her but blank horror. 

“ Was it because she did not come that night, that 
you left her to die ? ” she asked, in a labored voice. 
“ Was it because you saw her with Ealph Go wan — 
was it because you found out that she had been with 
him, that you went away and let her break her 
heart? Tell me!” 

He answered her, “ Yes.” 

“ Then,” she said, turning to face him, still cold, 
and almost rigid, “ it is I who have killed her, and 
not you.” 

“ You ! ” he exclaimed. 

She did not wait to choose her words, or try to 
soften the story of her own humiliation. 

“ If she dies,” she said, “ she has died for me.” 

And without further preface she told him all. 
How she had let Gerald Chandos flatter and gain 
power over her, until the climax of her folly had 
been the wild, wilful escapade of that miserable long- 
past day. How Ealph Gowan had discovered heJ 


366 


VAGABONDIA. 


romantic secret, and revealed it to Dolly. How they 
had followed and rescued her ; even how Dolly had 
awakened her from her dangerous dream with that 
light touch, and had drawn her away from the brink 
of an abyss, with her loving, girlish hands ; and she 
ended with an outburst of anguish. 

“ Why did n't she tell you ? ” she said. “ For my 
sake she did not want the rest to know ; but why did 
not she tell you ? I cannot understand.” 

“ She tried to tell me,” he said, in an agony of self- 
reproach, as he began to see what he had done, — 
“ she tried to tell me, and I would not hear her.” 

All his bygone sufferings — and, Heaven knows, 
he had suffered bitterly and heavily enough — sank 
into insignificance before the misery of this hour. To 
know how true and pure of heart she had been ; to 
know how faithful, unselfish, sweet; to remember 
how she had met him with a tender little cry of joy, 
with outstretched, innocent hands, that he had thrust 
aside ; to remember the old golden days in which she 
had so clung to him, and brightened his life ; to think 
how he had left her lying upon the sofa that night, 
her white face drooping piteously against the cush- 
ions ; to have all come back to him and know that 
he only was to blame ; to know it all too late. Nay, 
a whole life of future bliss could never quite efface 
the memory of such a passion of remorse and pain. 

“ Oh, my God ! ” he prayed, “ have mercy upon 


VAGABONDIA. 


367 


me ! ” And then he turned upon Mollie. “ Tell me 
where to go to ; tell me, and let me go. I must go 
to her now without a moment's waiting. My poor, 
faithful little girl, — my pretty Dolly ! Dying, — 
dying ! No, I don’t believe it, — I won’t. She can- 
not die yet. Fate has been cruel enough to us, but it 
cannot be so cruel as that. Love will make her live.” 

He dashed down Mollie’s directions in desperate, 
feverish haste upon a leaf of his memorandum-book, 
and then he bade her good-by. 

“God bless you, dear!” he said. “Perhaps you 
have saved us both. I am going to her now. Pray 
for me.” 

“ I ought rather to pray for myself,” she said ; “ but 
for me you would never have been separated. I 
have done it all.” 

And a few minutes after he had gone, Ealph 
Gowan, who had awaited her return before the win- 
dow, turned to see her enter the room like a spirit 
and fling herself down before him, looking white and 
shaken and pale. 

“ I have found it all out now,” she cried. “ I have 
found it all out. I have done all this, Mr. Gowan ; 
it is through me her heart is broken, and if she dies, 
I shall have caused her death, as surely as if I had 
killed her with my own hand. Oh, save me from 
thinking she will die, — help me to think she will 
live, — help me ! ” 


368 


VAGABONDIA. 


There was no one else to help her, and the blind 
terror of the thought was so great that she must have 
help, or die. To have so injured Dolly, whom she so 
loved, — to have, by her own deed, brought that dread 
shadow of Death upon Dolly, who had saved her ! 
Her heart seemed crushed. If Aimee had been there ; 
but Aimee was not, so she stretched out her hands to 
the man she had so innocently loved. And as she so 
knelt before him, — so fair, in the childlike abandon 
of her grief, so guileless and trusting in her sudden, 
sweet appeal, so helpless against the world, even 
against herself, — his man’s heart was touched and 
stirred as it had never been before, — as even Dolly 
herself had not stirred it. 

“ My poor child ! ” he said, taking her hands and 
drawing her nearer to himself. “My poor, pretty 
Mollie, come to me.” 

And why not, my reader ? If one rose is not for 
us, the sun shines on many another as sweet and 
quite as fair ; and what is more, it is more than proba- 
ble that if we had seen the last rose first, we should 
have loved the first rose last. It is only when, like 
Dolly and Grif, we have watched our rose from its 
first peep of the leaf, and have grown with its growth, 
that there can be no other rose but one. 

“ Le roi est mort — Vive le roi ! ” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


GRIF ! 


HERE was a hush upon the guests at the pretty 



-L little inn. Most of them were not sojourners 
of a day, who came and went, as they did at the 
larger and busier hotels, — they were comfortable 
people who enjoyed themselves in their own quiet 
way and so had settled down for the time being. 
Accordingly they had leisure to become interested in 
each other ; and there were few of them who did not 
feel a friendly interest in the pretty, pale English 
girl, who, report said, was fading silently out of life 
in her bright room up-stairs. When Aimee arrived, 
the most sympathetic shook their heads dubiously. 

“ The sister is here,” they said ; “a thoughtful little 
English creature with a child's face and a woman’s 
air. They sent for her. One can easily guess what 
that means.” 

Any one but Aim4e would have been crushed at 
the outset by the shock of the change which was to 
be seen in the poor little worn figure, now rarely 
moved from its invalid’s couch. But Aimee bore the 


24 


370 


VAGABONDIA. 


blow with outward quiet at least. If she shed tears 
Dolly did not see them, and if she mourned Dolly was 
not disturbed by her sorrow. 

“I have come to help Miss MacDowlas to take 
care of you, Dolly,” she said, when she gave her her 
greeting kiss, and Dolly smiled and kissed her in 
return. 

But it was a terribly hard matter to fight through 
at first. Of course, as the girl had become weaker 
she had lost power over herself. She was restless 
and listless by turns. Sometimes she started at every 
sound, and again she lay with closed eyes for hours, 
dozing the day away. The mere sight of her in this 
latter state threw poor Phemie into an agony of terror 
and distress. 

“ It is so like Death,” she would say to Aimee. 
"It seems as if we could never rouse her again.” 

And then again she would rally a little, and at 
such times she would insist upon being propped up 
and allowed to talk, and her eyes would grow large 
and bright, and a spot of hectic color would burn on 
her cheeks. She did not even mention her trouble 
during the first two days of Aimee’s visit, but on the 
third afternoon she surprised her by broaching the 
subject suddenly. She had been dozing, and on 
awakening she began to talk. 

“ Aimee,” she said, “ where is Miss MacDowlas ? ” 

“ In her room. I persuaded her to go and lie down.” 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


371 


“ I am very glad,” quietly. “ I want to do some- 
thing particular. I want Grif s letters, Aimee.” 

“ Where are they ? ” Aimee asked. 

“In a box in my trunk. I should like to have 
them now.” 

Aimee brought them to her without comment. 
The box had not been large enough to hold them all, 
and there was an extra packet tied with that dear old 
stereotyped blue ribbon. 

"What a many there are!” said Dolly, when she 
came to the couch with them. “ You will have to sit 
down by me and hold some of them. One can write 
a great many letters in seven years.” 

The wise one sat down, obediently holding the box 
upon her knee. There were so many letters in it 
that it was quite heavy. 

"I am going to look them over and tie them in 
packages, according to their dates,” said Dolly. “ He 
will like to have them when he comes back.” 

It would not have been natural for her to preserve 
her calmness all through the performance of her task. 
Her first glance at the first letter brought the tears, 
and she cried quietly as she passed from one to the 
other. They were such tender, impetuous letters. 
The very headings — “ My Darling,” “ My pretty 
Darling,” "My own sweetest Life” — impassioned, 
youthful-sounding, and Grif-like, cut her to the heart. 
Ah 1 how terrible it would be for him to see them 


372 


VAGABONDIA. 


again, as he would see them ! She was pitying him 
far more than she was pitying herself. 

It was a work not soon over, but she finished it at 
length. The packets were assorted and tied with 
new ribbon, and she lay down for a few minutes to 
rest. 

“You will give them to him, Aimee?” she said. 
“I think he will come some day ; but if he does not, 
you must keep them yourself. I should not like 
people to read them — afterwards. Love-letters won’t 
stand being read by strangers. I have often laughed 
and told him ours would n’t. I am going to write a 
last one, however, this afternoon. You are to give it 
him, with the ‘dead’ letter — but they are all dead 
letters, are they not ? ” 

“ Dolly,” said Aimee, with a desperate effort, “ you 
speak as if you were sure you were — go ing .” 

There was a silence, and then a soft, low, tremulous 
laugh, — the merest echo of a laugh. Despite her 
long suffering Dolly was Dolly yet. She would not 
let them mourn over her. 

“ Going,” she said, “ well — I think I am. Yes,” 
half reflectively, “I think I must be. It cannot 
mean anything else, — this feeling, can it ? It was a 
long time before I quite believed it myself, Aimee, 
but now I should be obliged to believe it if I did not 
wish to.” 

“ And do you wish to, now ? ” 


VAGAB0ND1A. 


373 


That little silence again, and then — 

“ I should like to see Grif, — I want Grif, — that 
is all.” 

She managed to write her last love-letter after 
this, and to direct it and tie it with the letter which 
had returned to her, — the “ dead ” letter. But the 
effort seemed to tire her very much, and when all 
was done and her restless excitement had died out, 
she looked less like herself than ever. She could 
talk no more, and was so weak and prostrate 
that Aimee was alarmed into summoning Miss 
MacDowlas. 

But Miss MacDowlas could only shake her head. 
“We cannot do anything to rouse her,” she said. 
“ It is often so. If the end comes, it will come in 
this way. She feels no pain.” 

That night Aimee wrote to those at home. They 
must come at once if they wanted to see Dolly. She 
watched all night by the bedside herself ; she could 
not have slept if she had gone to her own room, and 
so she remained with Dolly, watching her doze and 
waken, starting from nervous sleeps and sinking into 
them again. 

“ There will not be many nights through which I 
can watch,” she said to herself. “Even this might 
be the last.” And then she turned to the window, 
and cried silently, thinking of Grif, and wondering 
what she should say to him, if they ever met again e 


374 


VAGABONDIA. 


How could she say to him, “ Dolly is dead ! Dolly 
died because you left her ! 99 

Another weary day and night, and then the old 
change came again. The feverish strength seemed to 
come once more. Dolly would be propped up, and 
talk. Before very long Aimee began to fancy that 
she had something she wished to say to Miss Mac- 
Dowlas. She followed her movements with eager, 
unsatisfied eyes, and did not seem at ease until she 
sat down near her. Then when she had secured her 
attention the secret revealed itself. She had some- 
thing to say about Grif. 

Gradually, during the long weary weeks of her ill- 
ness she had learned to place much confidence in 
Miss MacDowlas. Her affectionate nature had clung 
to her. In telling anecdotes of life in Yagabondia, 
she had talked of Grif, — Vagabondia would not 
have been Yagabondia without Grif, — and there was 
always a thrill of faithful love in her simplest men- 
tion of him. Truly, Miss MacDowlas beheld her 
reprobate nephew in a new light, surrounded by a 
halo of innocent romance and unselfish tenderness. 
This poor little soul, who was breaking her heart for 
his sake, showed him sinned against but never sin- 
ning, unfortunate but never to blame, showed him 
honest, sweet of nature,- true, and faultless. Where 
were his faults in the eyes of his first and last love ? 
The simple, whimsical stories of their loves and 


V A GABONDIA . 


375 


lovers’ quarrels, of their small economies and perfect 
faith in the future, — a faith so sadly wrecked, as 
it seemed, by cruel Fate, — brought tears into Miss 
MacDowlas’s eyes. Eloquent, affectionate Dolly won 
her over before she knew what she was thinking 
about. He could not have been such a reprobate, 
after all, — this Griffith Donne, who had so often 
roused her indignation. Perhaps he could not help 
being literary and wearing a shabby coat and a 
questionable hat. And Dolly had in the end begun 
to see how her long-fixed opinion had softened and 
changed. So she had courage to plead for Grif this 
afternoon. She wanted to be sure that if he should 
ever come back, there would be a hand outstretched 
to help him. 

“ He only wanted help,” she said ; “ and no one has 
ever helped him, though he tried so hard and worked 
so. Aimee knows how hard he worked, don’t you, 
Aimee ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Aimee, turning her working face 
away. 

“ I should like you to promise,” said Dolly, wist- 
fully, to Miss MacDowlas. “ It would make me so 
much happier. You have been so kind to me, — I 
am sure you will be kind to him, — poor Grif, — poor 
fellow!” 

Miss MacDowlas bent over her, touched to the 
heart. 


376 


VAGABONDIA. 


“ My dear/’ she said, “ he shall never want help 
again. He must have been worthy of so much love, 
or he would never have won it. I owe him some 
recompense, too. If I had not been so stupidly 
blind I might have saved you both all this pain. I 
have grown very fond of you, Dolly, 1 ” she ended ; and 
then, being quite overcome, she kissed the pretty 
hair suddenly, gave the thin hand an almost motherly 
squeeze, and made the best of her way out of the 
room. 

“Aimee,” said Dolly, “do you remember how 
often I have made fun of her, when we were all so 
happy together ? We made a good many mistakes, 
even in Vagabondia, didn’t we?” And then she 
closed her eyes and lay silent, with wet lashes rest- 
ing on her cheek. 

In speaking of this afternoon, long afterwards, 
Aimee said it seemed the longest and weariest she 
had ever known. It was extremely hot, and the 
very air seemed laden with heavy languor. The sun 
beat down upon the outer world whitely, and scarcely 
a leaf stirred. Miss MacDowlas did not return, and 
Dolly, though she was not asleep, lay quite still 
and did not open her eyes again. So Aim4e sat and 
watched at her side, wondering how the day would 
end, — wondering if Phil and ’Toinette and Mollie 
would arrive before it was too late, — wondering what 
that strange last hour would be lik^ antr 1 bow 


VAGABONDIA. 


377 


Dolly would bear it when it came, and how they 
themselves would bear to think of it when it was 
over. 

She was not quite sure how long she sat watching 
so, but she fancied that it must have been two or 
three hours, or even more. She got up at last and 
drew down the green blinds as noiselessly as possible, 
and then went back to her place and rested her 
head upon the pillow near Dolly’s, feeling drowsy 
and tired, — she had slept so little during the past 
few nights. 

Dolly moved restlessly, stretching out her hand to 
Aimee’s and opening her eyes all at once — ah ! what 
large, hollow, shadowy eyes they were ! 

“ I am very tired,” she murmured, “ so tired and so 
weak, Aimee,” dreamily. “I suppose this is what 
you would call dying of a broken heart. It seems 
so queer that I should die of a broken heart.” 

“ Oh, Dolly — Dolly ! ” Aim4e whispered, “our 
own dearest dear, we never thought such pain could 
come to you.” 

But even the next moment Dolly seemed to have 
lost herself, her eyes closed again and she did not 
speak. So Aimee lay holding her hand, until the 
in-door silence, the shadow of the room, and the 
sound of the droning bees outside lulled her into a 
sort of doze, and her own eyelids fell wearily. 

A minute, was it, five or ten, or more than that ? 


378 


VAGABONDIA. 


She could not say. She only remembered her own 
last words, the warmth, the shadow, the droning of 
the bees, and the gradual losing consciousness, and 
then she was wide awake again, — awakened by a 
strange, wild cry, which, thrilling and echoing 
through the room, made her start up with a beating 
heart and look towards the door. 

“ Grif!” 

That was all, — only this single rapturous cry, and 
Dolly, who had before seemed not to have the strength 
of a child, was sitting up, a white, tremulous figure, 
with outstretched arms and fluttering breath, and 
Grif was standing upon the threshold. 

Even when she had blamed him most, Aimee had 
pitied him also ; but she had never pitied him as she 
did when he strode to the couch and took the weak, 
worn, tremulous little figure in his arms. He could 
not speak, — neither spoke. Dolly lay upon his 
breast crying like a little child. But for him — his 
grief was terrible; and when the loving hand was 
laid upon his cheek and Dolly found her first words, 
they only seemed to make it worse. 

“ Don’t cry/’ she said. “ Don’t cry, dear. Kiss 
me ! ” He kissed her lips, her hands, her hair. He 
could not bear it. She was so like, yet so fearfully 
unlike, the winsome, tender creature he had loved so 
long. 

“ Oh, my God ! ” he cried, in his old mad way, “ you 


VAGABONDIA. 


379 


are dying, and if you die it will be I who have mur- 
dered you i ” 

She moved a little nearer, so that her pretty face 
rested against his shoulder and she could lift her 
streaming eyes to his, her old smile shining through 
her tears. 

“ Dear old fellow,” she said, " darling old fellow, 
whom I love with all my soul ! I shall live just to 
prove that you have done nothing of the kind ! ” 

It was only Grif she wanted, — only Grif, and 
Grif had come. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


ROSE COLOR. 


F course she recovered. What else could she 



do ? If a man is dying for want of bread 
and you give him bread enough and to spare, he will 
regain strength and life, will he not ? And so with 
Dolly. Having found Grif, she had nothing to die 
for and so much to live for, that she lived. It 
seemed, too, that even if she had been inclined to 
die, Grif would have held her fast to earth. It was 
worse than useless to attempt to delude him into 
leaving her side, even for an hour ; he hung over the 
invalid’s couch in such an anguish of half-despairing 
anxiety that the hearts of the unceremoniously 
deposed nurses were quite touched. He watched 
every change in Dolly’s face, every brightening or 
fading tint in her cheek, every glance of her eyes ; he 
followed her every movement. If she was tired of 
her posture, he could raise her or lay her down and 
settle her cushions as no one else could ; if she was 
strong enough to listen, he could talk to her ; if she 
was too weak, he could be silent. 


VAGABONDIA. 


381 


But naturally there was much to talk about. Not 
that the period of his absence had been a very event- 
ful one. It was as Ralph Gowan had fancied, — he 
had been living quietly enough in a secluded London 
street during the whole of the time ; but Dolly found 
the history of his self-banishment both interesting 
and soul-moving. The story of his miseries brought 
the tears into her eyes, and his picture of what he 
had suffered on that unhappy night, when he had 
rushed out of the house and left her insensible upon 
the sofa, made her cling to his hand convulsively and 
sob outright. 

“ I can scarcely believe you are here, — quite safe,” 
she would say ; “ you might have killed yourself.” 

And indeed he had been in no small danger of so 
doing. 

Among all this, however, there was one bit of 
brightness, — a wonderful piece of news he told her 
that very day after his return. Fortune had, with 
her usual caprice, condescended to smile upon him 
at last. Incredible as it appeared, he had “ got into 
something,” and this “ something ” was actually 
remunerative, — reasonably remunerative, if not ex- 
travagantly so. Four hundred a year would pay the 
rent of the figurative house in Putney or elsewhere, 
and buy the green sofa and appurtenances, at least. 
Dolly could scarcely believe it, and, indeed, he 
scarcely believed it himself. 


382 


V A GABONDIA . 


“ It seemed as if, when I had lost all else, this 
came to add to the bitterness of the loss,” he said. 
“ I am afraid I was far from being as grateful, at 
first, as I ought to have been. I could only remem- 
ber how happy such luck would have made us 
both if it had only come a year or so earlier. And 
the very day I got the place I passed the upholsterer’s 
where the parlor furniture was, — green sofa and all. 
And I went home with the firm intention of blowing 
my brains out. The only thing that saved me that 
day was the fact that my landlady met me at the 
door with a miserable story about her troubles and 
her taxes, and by the time I had listened for half an 
hour, and done something she wanted done, I had 
cooled down a little, though 1 was wretched enough.” 

“ The ‘ something ’ was paying the taxes, was n’t 
it ? ” questioned Dolly. 

“ Something of that kind,” admitted Griffith. 

"Ah,” said Dolly, “ I thought so.” 

Very naturally Griffith felt some slight embarrass- 
ment on encountering Miss MacDowlas, having a 
rather unpleasant recollection of various incidents of 
the past. But Miss Berenice faced the matter in a 
different manner and with her usual decision of char- 
acter. She had made up her mind to receive Griffith 
Donne as a respectable fact, and then, through Dolly’s 
eloquence, she had learned to regard him with even 
a sort of affection, — a vague affection, of course, at 


VAGABONDIA. 


383 


the outset, but one which would ripen with time. 
Thus she rather surprised him by confronting him 
upon an entirely new ground. She was cordial and 
amiable, and on the first opportunity she explained 
her change of feeling with great openness. 

“ I have heard so much of you from Dolly, 1 ” she 
said, “ that I am convinced I have known nothing of 
you before. I hope we shall be better friends. I am 
very fond of Dolly. I wish I had known her three 
or four years ago.” 

And there was such a softened tenderness in her 
thin, unpromising face, that from thenceforward Grif- 
fith's doubts were removed and his opinion altered, as 
hers had done. The woman who had loved and pitied 
Dolly when she so sorely needed pity and love, must 
be worthy of gratitude and affection. 

Phil and ’Toinette andMollie arriving, in the deepest 
affliction, to receive Dolly’s last farewell, were rather 
startled by the turn affairs had taken. Changed as 
she was, the face she turned to greet them was not 
the face of a dying girl. She was deplorably pale 
and shrunken and thin, but the light of life was in 
her eyes and a new ring was in her voice. She had 
vitality enough to recognize fresh charms in Tod, and 
spirit enough to make a few jokes. 

“ She won’t die,” commented Phil to his wife when 
they retired to their room. 

“ No,” said Mrs. Phil, discreetly, “ it is not likely. 


384 


V A GABONDIA . 


now Grif has come back. But it won’t do to waste 
the journey, Phil, so we may as well stay awhile. We 
have not been anywhere out of London this summer.” 

Accordingly, with their usual genius for utilizing 
all things, they prolonged their visit and made it into 
a kind of family festival ; and since their anxiety on 
Dolly’s behalf was at an end, they managed to enjoy 
it heartily. They walked here, and rode there, and 
explored unheard-of points and places ; they kept the 
quiet people in the quiet hotel in a constant state of 
pleasant ferment with their good spirits and uncere- 
monious friendliness. Mollie and Aimee and Mrs. 
Phil excited such general admiration that when they 
made their appearance at the table d'hote there was a 
visible stir and brightening, and Dolly was so con- 
stantly inquired after, that there were serious thoughts 
entertained of issuing hourly bulletins. The reaction 
of high spirits after their fears was something ex- 
hilarating even to beholders. 

And while they enjoyed themselves, and explored, 
and instituted a high carnival of innocent rejoicing, 
Dolly directed all her energies to the task of getting 
well and filling Grif’s soul with hope and bliss. As 
soon as she had fully recovered they were to be mar- 
ried, — not a day, not an hour, longer would Grif con- 
sent to wait. His only trouble was that she would 
not be strong enough to superintend the purchase of 
the green sofa and appurtenances. Aimee had, how- 


VA GABONDIA . 


385 


ever, proved his rock of refuge as usual. They were 
to return to London together and make the necessary 
preparations, and then the wedding was to take place' 
in Geneva, and the bride would be carried home in' 
triumph. 

“ We have been so long in travelling toward the 
little house at Putney that it will be the nicest 
bridal tour we could have,” said Dolly. 

Then, of course, came some pleasant excitement in 
connection with the trousseau, in which everybody 
was involved. The modest hotel had never before 
been in such a state of mind through secret prepara- 
tions, as it was when Dolly was well enough to sit 
up and walk about and choose patterns. Her instinct 
of interest in worldly vanities sustained that young 
person marvellously. When Grif and Aimee had re- 
turned to London she found herself well enough to 
give lengthy audiences to Mrs. Phil, who, with Miss 
MacDowlas, had taken the business of purchasing in 
hand, and to discuss fabrics and fashions by the hour. 
She remembered Grifs enthusiasm on the subject of 
her toilets, and she was wholly ruled by a secret and 
laudable ambition to render herself as irresistible as 
possible. She exercised to its utmost her inventive 
genius, and lay awake at night to devise simple but 
coquettish feminine snares of attire to delight and 
bewilder him in the future. 

She might well progress rapidly toward health and 
25 


386 


VA GA BONDI A . 


strength. By the time the house was ready for her 
reception she was well enough to drive out and ex- 
plore with the rest, though she looked frail and 
unsubstantial by contrast with Mollie’s bloom and 
handsome Mrs. Phil’s grand curves. She was gaining 
flesh and color every day, but the slender throat amd 
wrists and transparent hands were a bitter reproach 
to Grif even then, and it would be many weeks before 
she could again indulge in that old harmless vanity 
in her dimples and smooth roundness of form. 

Mollie mourned over her long, in secret, and, in- 
deed, was so heart-wrung by the sight of the change 
she found in her, that the very day of her arrival had 
not drawn to its close before she burst upon her with 
a remorseful appeal for forgiveness. 

“ But even if you forgive me I shall not forgive 
myself,” she said. “ I shall never forget that dread- 
ful night when I found out that it was all my fault, 
and that you had borne everything without telling 
me. If — if it had not been for — for Mr. Gowan, 
Dolly, I think I should have died.” 

“ If it had not been for whom ? ” asked Dolly. 

“ Mr. Gowan,” answered Miss Mollie, dropping her 
eyes, her very throat dyed with guilty blushes. 

“ Ah ! ” said Dolly. “ And what did Mr. Gowan 
do, Mollie ? ” 

“ He was very kind — and sympathizing,” replied 
Mollie. 


VAGABONDIA. 


387 


“ He always is sympathizing,” looking at her with 
affectionate shrewdness. “ He is very nice, is n’t he, 
Mollie ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Mollie. “ Very nice, indeed.” 

•"And I dare say you were so frightened and 
wretched that you cried ? ” 

“ Yes,” confessed the abashed catechised. 

“ I thought so.” And then, conjuring up in her 
mind’s eye a picture of Mollie, heart-broken, appeal- 
ing and in tears, beauteous, piteous, and grief-aban- 
doned, she added, with tender impulsiveness, “ I don’t 
wonder that he sympathized with you, Mollie.” 

It revealed itself shortly afterward that his sym- 
pathy had not confined itself to the night Mollie 
called “ dreadful.” Since that night he had been a 
frequent visitor at Bloomsbury Place, — as frequent 
a visitor as he had been in the days when Dolly had 
been wont so to entertain him. 


A week after the return of Aimee and Grif from 
London, there fell again upon the modest hotel a 
hush ; but it was not the hush of sympathetic silence 
which had fallen upon it before, — it was merely a 
sort of reaction after a slight excitement. The pretty 
English girl had, to every one’s wonder, suddenly 
returned to earth and had been married ! The wisest 
were bewildered, but such was the fact, nevertheless ; 


388 


VA GABONDIA . 


nobody could exactly comprehend, but who could 
deny it ? It was a mystery, indeed, until one day, 
some time after, a usually phlegmatic matron was 
struck with an idea, and accordingly propounded to 
her friends a somewhat vaguely expressed problem. 

“ After the appearance of the lover one heard no 
more that she was dying?” 

“Just so” 

“ Perhaps the lover had something to do with the 
matter ? ” 

“ Ah!” 

“ Perhaps she was dying for him, and his coming 
cured her?” 

“Exactly. That must have been the case.” 

And thenceforth the matter was deemed settled. 
However, the gay, light-hearted party of English had 
taken their departure, — the friendly young artist 
who sketched and smoked and enjoyed himself ; his 
handsome young wife, who sketched and played with 
her handsome child, and enjoyed herself ; the beauti- 
ful younger sister, who blushed and was charmingly 
bashful, but enjoyed herself ; the fair little saint with 
the grave youthful face, who took care of them all, 
and yet enjoyed herself, — the lover, the elder lady, 
the guest who came to be groomsman, the bride, — 
they were all gone at last, and their absence was the 
cause of the hush of which I speak. 

There had been a wedding, — a joyous, light- 


VAGABONDIA. 


389 


hearted wedding, in which the bride had looked pretty 
and flower-like and ethereal, — a fragile creature 
enough in her white dress and under her white veil, 
but a delightfully happy creature, notwithstanding, 
— in which the bridegroom had been plainly filled 
with chivalric tenderness and bliss, — in which the 
two sisters had been charming beyond measure, and 
the awkward, affectionate girl friend from the semi- 
nary had blushed herself into a high fever. There 
could not have been a more prettily orthodox wed- 
ding, said the beholders. Somehow its glow of 
young romance touched people, it was so evident 
that the young couple were fond of each other, and 
happy and hopeful. There were those who, seeing 
it solemnized in the small church, shed a few tears, 
they knew not why, when Grif lifted Dolly’s veil 
and kissed her without a word. 

“ It is all rose color to them,” said one of these 
soft-hearted ones, apologetically, to her neighbor. 

Eose color ! I should think it was. 

But if it was all rose color then, what was it that 
first evening they spent at home, — in their own 
home, in the little house which was so bright and 
pretty that it seemed more ^like a dream than a 
reality? What color did life look when Grif led 
Dolly across the threshold, half trembling himself for 
very joy ? What color did it look when he shut the 
door of the little parlor, and, turning round, went to 


390 


VAGABONDIA . 


her and folded her in his arms close to his beating 
heart ? 

Rose color ! It was golden and more than golden! 
And yet, for the first minute, Dolly could not speak, 
and the next she laid her cheek in her favorite place, 
on the lapel of Grif’s coat, and burst into a great gush 
of soft, warm tears, — tears without a touch of any 
other element, however, than love and happiness. 

“ Homey Grif ! ” she said. 

He was quite pale and he had almost lost his voice, 
too, but he managed to answer her, unsteadily. 

“Yes, Dolly,” he said; “home!” And he stroked 
the bright hair upon his breast, with a world of 
meaning in his touch. 

“ Do you think,” she said next, “ that I am good 
enough and wise enough to take care of it, and to 
take care of you , Grif?” 

“ Do you think,” he said, “ that I am good enough 
and wise enough to take care of you?” 

She lifted up her face and kissed him. 

“We love each other,” she whispered, “we trust 
each other, and so we can help each other, and God 
will help us both. Ah, Grif, how bright and sweet 
life is ! ” 

And she scarcely knew, tender little soul, that 
instead of “life” she should have said “love.” 


VAGABONDIA. 


391 


There we will leave them both, merely hinting at 
the festivities that followed, — merely hinting at the 
rejoicings at Bloomsbury Place, the gatherings at 
Brabazon Lodge, and the grand family reception at 
the house of the bride, — a reception at which Dolly 
shone forth with renewed splendor, presiding over a 
gorgeous silver tea-service, which was one of Miss 
MacDowlas’s many gifts, dispensing tea and coffee 
with the deportment of a housekeeper of many years’ 
standing, and utterly distracting Grif with her ma- 
tronly airs and graces. 

Yagabondia was itself again in these days, but it 
was turning its brighter side outward. Phil was 
winning success, too, his position in the world of art 
was becoming secured, and Bloomsbury Place was to 
be touched up and refurnished gradually, Aimee 
had promised to make her home with Dolly until 
such time as her sweet little saint’s face won her 
a home of her own. Miss MacDowlas had been 
adopted into the family circle, and was conscious of 
being happier than she had ever felt since her long- 
past youth slipped from her grasp. Tod’s teeth were 
“ through,” as Mrs. Phil phrased it, and convulsions 
had not supervened, to the ecstasy of his anxious 
admirers. And Mollie, — well, Mollie waltzed with 
Ealph Gowan again on the night of Dolly’s reception, 
and when the dance was at an end, she went and 
seated herself near her hostess upon the green sofa — • 


392 


VAGABONDIA. 


it was a green sofa, though a far more luxurious one 
than Dolly and Grif had ever dared to set their 
hearts upon in the olden days. 

“ Dolly,” she said, blushing for the last time in this 
history of mine, and looking down at her bouquet of 
waxen- white camellias and green leaves, — “ Dolly, I 
suppose Aimee has told you that I am engaged to — 
to — ” 

* To Mr. Gowan,” suggested Dolly. 

“ Yes,” answered Mollie, “ to Mr. Gowan.” 


THE NOVELS AND STORIES OF 

Frances Hodgson Burnett 

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, Publishers 

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In Connection with 

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M RS. BURNETT’S new novel is a literary event of the 
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with happiness — thi-s the reader will learn for himself. 

The tragedy of the story, intensified by the contrast of the 
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romantic child and a strong man who is her protector fills the 
book with a sweetness that matches its dramatic fire. 


NOVELS BY MRS. BURNETT 


The Dawn of a Tomorrow 

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NOVELS BY MRS. BURNETT 


That Lass of Lowrie’s 

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Haworth’s 

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Through One Administration 

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Louisiana 

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Vagabondia: A Love Story 

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